


Under Construction

by dustofwarfare, MxTicketyBoo, ohmyfae



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Animal Ears, Animal Hybrid Universe, Animal Instincts, Animal Traits, Antlers, Barbed Penis, Biting, Cat/Human Hybrids, Catboy Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Deerboy Claude von Riegan, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Fluff and Smut, Growling, Humor, Lionboy Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, M/M, Polyamory, Purring, Rough Sex, Scent Marking, Scenting, Scratching, Tails, Threesome - M/M/M, animal/human hybrids, dick stepping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/pseuds/MxTicketyBoo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Dimitri doesn’t want the house to benicefor Felix. He wants it to be perfect. It should have long, wide shelves with cushions for lounging, a climbing bed with places to hide Felix’s hoard, atree house,like the glorious one Felix wasn’t allowed to play in. He deserves more than just a shell of a house, and Dimitri should be the one to give that to him.After lion-hybrid Dimitri invites his cat-hybrid boyfriend, Felix, to move in, he unintentionally lands in DIY hell as he tries to create the perfect living accommodations for Felix. Help arrives in the form of his deer-hybrid neighbor, Claude, but as the project intensifies, so does the attraction between the three of them.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 80
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We all love the idea of catboy Felix, and thus, the concept for this fic was born. This takes place in a modern setting, in a universe where the descendants of Crest-bearing families evolved into animal/human hybrids, while everyone else remained human. As such, the characters have certain animal traits and features—tails, furry ears, sharper teeth, altered genitalia, etc. If that’s not your cuppa, we totally understand and we’ll see you next time around. Otherwise, please enjoy! We're already having a lot of fun with this project! :D

The thing about having a boyfriend as hot as Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is that it’s a constant struggle for Felix to keep his hands to himself. All Dimitri has to do is give him that big, goofy smile or even say his name in a particular way and Felix has to fight not to pounce, take Dimitri to the ground, and start grinding in his lap right then and there. He’s even done it a few times, like in the storeroom at the bar Dimitri owns, and on one memorable occasion, in between the rows of grape vines when they were touring a winery and got separated from the main group.

But usually Felix manages to keep himself together. It’s a hardship, though, and sometimes it’s downright annoying how attractive Dimitri is—tall, blond, and beautiful with that _chest_ and those big, strong hands and his powerful thighs. Truly, how is Felix meant to cope? If he’s honest, he doesn’t love the loss of control Dimitri inspires in him, but he loves _Dimitri_ , and so having a boyfriend this infuriatingly, distractingly gorgeous is a sacrifice Felix is willing to make.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Dimitri’s control isn’t any better than his. They barely make it through the door of the old Victorian Dimitri recently purchased before Dimitri unzips Felix’s hoodie, tosses it in the direction of the living room, and then hauls Felix’s thin T-shirt over his head and sends it flying in the same direction.

Dimitri hoists Felix up off the floor and licks across one of his nipples with a low, rumbling growl. His tongue is as raspy as Felix’s, and Felix hisses a little at the rough scrape against his sensitive flesh, but it’s not a protest. He buries his fingers in Dimitri’s thick, shaggy mane—always unruly no matter what Dimitri does to try to tame it—and holds him there, encouraging him to repeat the gesture.

Dimitri does and then nips, just a little, with one of his sharp canines. The brief flash of pain startles a tiny yowl out of Felix. His face burning, he finds one of Dimitri’s rounded, tawny-gold ears by touch—the fur at the base is silky soft, a different texture from the rest of Dimitri’s human hair—and tugs none too gently in retaliation.

Dimitri’s answering laugh is husky and warm against Felix’s chest. “Pull my ears all you like, sweetheart. I love that my kitten has claws.”

“I’ll show you kitten,” Felix says darkly. He unsheathes the aforementioned claws and digs them into the back of Dimitri’s neck. “Take me upstairs.”

“Your wish, my command.” Dimitri heads toward the stairs, carrying him easily. He’s strong enough Felix doesn’t really _need_ to hang on, but he does so anyway, wrapping his arms and legs around Dimitri and clinging like the kitten Dimitri accuses him of being.

He wouldn’t let anyone else get away with calling him that, but they’ve known each other since they were in diapers, and they’ve been together since shortly before they graduated college a few years ago. Dimitri gets a pass where anyone else would not—especially when he’s about to dick Felix out just the way Felix likes.

When they reach the bedroom, Dimitri deftly extricates himself from Felix’s grasp and tosses him on the bed. Felix bounces onto the pillows, but before he even has a chance to catch his breath, Dimitri’s yanking off his shoes. The skinny jeans and briefs come off more gently, Dimitri taking care not to hurt Felix’s long, sensitive tail, but it’s still only a matter of moments until he’s entirely nude.

Felix takes his cock in hand and sinks his fangs into his bottom lip as he watches Dimitri strip. There’s that glorious chest, the well-developed pecs that Felix loves to rub his face against. Lower, the ripped abdominal muscles, the sharp cut of his pelvis, the thick, gorgeous thighs Felix lubes up and fucks as often as Dimitri will allow. And then, Dimitri’s cock—huge and already mostly hard.

 _Saints_ , he really is stunning. Moments like these, Felix can barely believe Dimitri is his. But he is, and it makes Felix want to preen. Makes him want to drag Dimitri off to his favorite hiding place and keep him there with the rest of Felix’s most cherished possessions, where only _Felix_ can find him.

Naked, Dimitri crawls onto the bed, prowling toward Felix like the big cat he is. His tufted tail is up and swaying behind him, betraying his playful mood.

Felix spreads his legs and bares his throat in invitation.

Dimitri is there in an instant. He bites gently, pinching the skin near one of Felix’s collarbones between his teeth. When he pulls back, his lips are curled and slightly parted as he huffs air into the sensitive organ in the roof of his mouth.

“The way you smell,” Dimitri says, moaning. “Dear goddess, it drives me crazy.”

Felix flicks his tongue against the roof of his own mouth, scenting him back. Dimitri’s arousal is like a physical taste, dizzying and potent enough to make him shiver and tip his chin up with a whine.

Dimitri returns to his throat immediately, giving him a nuzzle and a soothing lick. “I’ll take care of you. Always. _Always_ , Felix.”

Felix sinks his claws into Dimitri’s shoulders and arches against him. “I know you will.”

He does know. There are a lot of people who won’t put up with Felix. He can be awkward, temperamental, tactless. He doesn’t mean to be rude, usually, but sometimes it feels like his words get tangled up or, worse, they break free before he has a chance to really consider the impact they’ll have on whoever he’s speaking to. Even when he’s actively trying to soften his sharp edges, blunt is his default setting. But Dimitri sees him for who he is, _knows_ him, and he accepts Felix anyway. Flaws, skittishness, prickly nature, and all. Goddess, Felix loves him so much. It took him a long, long time to admit that to himself, and longer to admit it to Dimitri. Now, here they are. Felix doesn’t hold back with Dimitri anymore. Sometimes he can’t remember why he ever held back in the first place.

“Fuck me,” Felix orders, raking his claws down the length of Dimitri’s spine—hard enough he smells salt and iron.

Dimitri snarls, from deep within his chest. It’s a predatory sound that sends goosebumps across Felix’s skin, makes his ears flatten against his skull and his hair stand on end. Except he’s the most willing prey to ever exist. He wants Dimitri to devour him. He looks forward to it.

Felix grabs Dimitri’s ass and digs in his claws there, too, pushing his pelvis up to grind their cocks together. “Come on, fuck me. I want to feel it.”

“Yeah? You want it?” Dimitri’s voice is as close to a purr as he can get. Unlike Felix, he’s not built to make that sound, but his pleased, happy rumble is gratifying all the same. He stirs his hips in a lazy swivel, not nearly the amount of pressure Felix would prefer, but it’s enough the barbs on their dicks catch and pull. It stings, but it’s so very _good_.

Felix makes a needy noise. An eager little mewl no one but Dimitri has ever gotten to hear. He hasn’t been with a ton of other people, but the way Dimitri works him up is unprecedented. Felix is glad of it, too. He’s never liked the idea of looking desperate in front of anyone, for any reason. It’s only with Dimitri he’s willing to be this vulnerable, to put his desires on such blatant display. Dimitri makes it easy—he’s never once hidden how badly he wants Felix, and knowing those feelings are returned really is everything.

But this time, Dimitri doesn’t relent right away. “Tell me what you want, Felix.”

Felix groans, frustrated. “I want _you_.”

“Hmm.” Dimitri nuzzles at the tender spot just under Felix’s jaw. “Any particular part of me, sweetheart?”

“Your big cock.” The words emerge on a growl, softer than Dimitri’s but equally fierce. “Give it to me.” Felix’s tail, which has a mind of its own on the best of days, coils around one of Dimitri’s thighs.

“Why, Felix, is that how we’re supposed to ask for things? Are these the manners you teach your students?”

Felix growls again, curling his claws into Dimitri’s ass until Dimitri makes a pained grunt. Still, he’s smiling when he pulls back and Felix catches a glimpse of his face, the bastard. Little does Dimitri realize, he won’t keep the upper hand for long. Felix knows Dimitri's biggest weakness, and he’s not afraid to exploit it relentlessly, if he needs to.

“I love you,” Felix tells him. He spreads his legs and tips his head back, open, throat bared, exposed in every way he can be. Dimitri’s pupils dilate. “I love you, Dimitri.” Felix retracts his claws and drags his hands up Dimitri’s back to the silky hair at his nape, then farther, to the twitching ears at the top of his head. Felix scritches them gently, and Dimitri shudders, his eyelids going half-mast. “You’re the only one who can give me what I need. Only you.”

Felix might feel guilty about manipulating Dimitri’s emotions to get what he wants, _if_ he were lying, but he’s not. They both know he belongs to Dimitri in every possible way.

“And now you have this place,” Felix whispers, tugging Dimitri’s head down to kiss him, pulling more of Dimitri’s comforting weight on top of himself. Dimitri’s so solid and strong, all heavy muscle and barely constrained power. He’s very much aware of that strength, too, always cautious, mindful of how easily he might hurt someone, how easily he might hurt _Felix_ , without even intending to, if he wasn’t careful. His consideration is yet another thing Felix loves about him. “We can be as loud as we want,” Felix adds. “No Sylvain or Dedue to overhear us.” For the first time in their entire relationship, Dimitri is living on his own. They have complete privacy here. No neighbors above or below. It’s a lovely old Victorian house with plenty of cozy nooks for Felix to hide in—which is, he suspects, the entire reason Dimitri bought it. “Take me like I know you want to. Bite my neck, hold me down. _Fuck me_.”

He sees the very instant Dimitri’s control finally snaps.

***

Felix probably knows exactly what he’s doing, but at the moment, Dimitri isn’t entirely certain he can bring himself to care.

He arches over Felix with a speed that should alarm him, nipping at his jaw, his neck, the base of his throat. Felix makes a pleased little sound as Dimitri grabs his thighs with both hands and hitches him up onto his lap, and Dimitri turns it into a moan as he bites down hard on Felix’s shoulder. Dimitri’s cock slides along the cleft of Felix’s ass, and he growls softly into his skin.

“Yes,” he says, in a low, pained voice. He’s already slick with pre-come, and Felix wants it, is panting for it, eyes glassy and dark. “Yes, you’re mine, aren’t you, Felix.”

As Dimitri mounts him, pushing inside with a moan that shudders through the air like a live thing, Felix hisses and tilts his head back on the sheets. His lips part, and Dimitri bares his teeth in triumph.

When Felix gets him like this, when he works Dimitri up to his peak and tips him over the edge, Dimitri never can control himself. It’s bestial. It’s primal. It’s entirely undignified in every sense of the word, just Dimitri growling into Felix’s neck as he fucks him back on the bed, twisting up the sheets and ruining his hair. His barbs catch and pull as he grinds his hips, and Felix drags his nails—his claws—up Dimitri’s shoulders. His heels dig into the small of Dimitri’s back, and Dimitri leans over him, bending him almost in half.

Felix yowls as Dimitri pulls back to fuck him into the mattress properly—the barbs _hurt,_ Dimitri knows this—but the pain also releases something else into Felix’s system, a unique cocktail of hormones that makes him pant and squirm and moan beneath him. He lets out little gasping cries every time Dimitri rocks into him, and when Dimitri reaches for the base of Felix’s tail, Felix _wails_.

It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. _This_ is perfect, with Dimitri boxing Felix in, working him up into a howling release that has Felix thrashing his head on the sheets. Dimitri fucks him through it, licks over the marks he’s left on his neck, digs his fingers in Felix’s silky hair. When he comes, Dimitri bites hard enough to taste blood on his tongue, and Felix goes limp and sated beneath him.

“Fuck,” Felix says. He hisses slightly as Dimitri’s barbs tug at his skin, and Dimitri kisses him softly, tenderly, before he draws back. He looks down at Felix, blissed-out and purring, covered in bite marks, sweat, and come.

“I want to keep you,” Dimitri says. Felix barely raises his brows, and Dimitri’s face heats. “Ah, no. I meant...” This isn’t how he planned this. He’s supposed to have a speech prepared, ready to be given at their favorite restaurant across the city, but instead he’s here, panting and fumbling and unable to find the words.

“You know you already have me,” Felix says, which somehow manages to outdo three entire pages of carefully-written declarations of love Dimitri has spent the past few weeks composing. Felix grunts when Dimitri pounces, and Dimitri drags him into his arms with a rumble of pleasure.

“No, I meant I want you... around,” Dimitri says, into Felix’s hair. That isn’t quite right. “Here. With me. I’d like you here.”

Felix’s eyes narrow.

“Move in with me,” Dimitri says. “That is. If you want to. You aren’t, aren’t obligated, of course, and I’d never try to push you to—”

Felix gives Dimitri a painfully dry look, and Dimitri pulls away enough to give him space to breathe. He waits carefully, anxiety twisting knots in his stomach, as Felix tries to finger-comb his hair in order and sit up on his elbows.

“Of course I’d like to move in,” he says. Dimitri beams, and Felix huffs sharply and shoves a hand in Dimitri’s face. He pushes him to the side, but Dimitri just kisses his neck instead, and Felix sighs.

“You know this is why I bought the house in the first place,” Dimitri says. Felix rolls out from under him, and Dimitri admires the lean shape of him, his taut muscles and lashing tail, as Felix minces for the bathroom. “I saw the bay windows and I thought, well, Felix would like this. And there are so many little nooks and alcoves, and plenty of space to move around…”

“You don’t have to sell me on it after the fact, Dimitri,” Felix says. He turns on the tap. “But you’re right. It’s… nice.”

 _Nice?_ Dimitri tries to think of how Felix’s family home looked, back on the coast. Their house also had wide windows and sliding glass doors, not to mention the little pots of catmint Felix and Dimitri kept raiding until Rodrigue had them put away. Felix’s mother had installed shelves for the kids to play on, and there was an enormous tree house out back, which Glenn claimed for his own for a solid ten minutes before Felix, standing at the roots of the tree with his tail bristling and his ears flat on his head, burst into furious tears.

Dimitri looks around at his bare walls and the one dying succulent on the window, and scratches at his long, shaggy hair.

They stay in bed for the rest of the afternoon. Sure, they could still go out to eat, but Felix is so lovely and warm beneath him, and Dimitri can’t resist exploring his body, teasing soft gasps and cut-off moans until they end up tangled and sweaty on the floor of the bedroom. Felix falls asleep there, tail curled possessively around Dimitri’s arm, and Dimitri nearly gets a claw to the face for his pains when he tries to lift Felix to the bed. He ends up leaving him in a pile of blankets, where he twitches faintly in his sleep, ears swiveling to catch every sound. Dimitri dresses quietly and pads down the stairs, where he looks out at his sparse living room and methodically checks every window and door on the first floor.

His father said it was instinct, back when Dimitri startled his step-mother by rigging up a complex series of traps and lego barriers to trip up intruders at night. Lion hybrids just get a little more possessive than most—It’s a tendency Dimitri has to keep in check, otherwise he’ll end up putting a bell on Felix and growling at anyone who looks at him sideways. The worst of it came when they started dating, and Dimitri placed a bemused Felix in the middle of the room with his favorite books and a copy of that jazz album his father had given him, and then proceeded to growl every time Felix so much as moved. It wasn’t his shining moment, to say the least.

Now, Dimitri steps out into the cold night air and takes off along the border of his property, walking slow and silent in the low grass. He stops once, ears pricked, as a figure moves down the street, but it’s just that neighbor with the wild yard, the deer hybrid who keeps showing up in people’s gardens in the early mornings. His antlers are dark against the light of his old Victorian house, and he stands in the high grass, dandelions swaying at his shins.

Not a threat, then. Dimitri keeps walking.

He should be thrilled. He should be _elated,_ should be grinning into the dark like a lovestruck loon even as he checks the trees for shadows, but he can’t help but feel the slightest twinge of unease. He doesn’t want the house to be _nice_ for Felix. He wants it to be perfect. It should have long, wide shelves with cushions for lounging, a climbing bed with places to hide Felix’s hoard, a _tree house,_ like the glorious one Felix wasn’t allowed to play in. He deserves more than just a shell of a house, and Dimitri should be the one to give that to him.

He stops at the garage, where the old power tools his father used to make the bar are still there, neatly hanging over an unused workbench, and regards them for a long moment.

Felix has relocated to the bed by the time Dimitri finishes his patrol, curled in a tight ball on the mattress with his arms half tucked over his head. Dimitri smiles and strokes his hair, and Felix opens his eyes with a soft _mrrp_ that’s so adorable that Dimitri might actually _die._ He kisses Felix on the forehead as he climbs into bed, and Felix uncurls just enough to drape himself over Dimitri. Dimitri holds him there, listening to the soft purr in Felix’s throat, until the quiet of evening folds over him at last.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hilda,” Claude says, flinging himself across the counter toward his best friend. “You’ll never guess who moved in next door!”

Hilda, who has shown up at Failnaught Antiques to deliver her newest batch of jewelry—not technically antiques, but it’s Claude’s store and he can sell what he wants—places the lot on the counter and raises her brows at Claude. Her fluffy pink tail swishes about, nearly knocking over a rack of vintage beaded necklaces.

Lysithea, still and quiet across the store, watches with her ears pointed up and her nose twitching. “Would you _watch_ your _tail_ ,” she snaps, the sharpness of her tone contrasting with her overall deceptively cute appearance. “I spent two _hours_ untangling all those necklaces, Hilda!”

“Calm _down_ ,” Hilda says, tipping her rose-gold sunglasses onto her head. She leans across the counter and lets her tail fluff up behind her. “I have excellent control over my tail, Lysithea, thank you very much. So, who moved in next to you?” 

“A lion!” Claude says, opening the parcel of jewelry. He whistles. “These are gorgeous.” One is a delicate bee made out of metal, perched on a blown-glass flower. There’s a similarly elegant bird curled up on a flower pressed inside glass, and then a mind-blowing collection of brightly colored glass beads wrapped in copper wire. They’re all unique and one-of-a-kind, and Claude knows, will be gone by the end of the weekend.

He takes the stack of business cards for Delicate Flower Designs to replenish those that have been pocketed by customers and continues to regale Hilda with the story of his new neighbor. “And he’s like. The most lion of all lions, too. Have you ever _met_ a lion? They’re rare as hybrids. Supposedly tied to the old Faerghan royal family.” 

“There’s a lioness here,” says Lysithea. “I go to her bakery. U Knead Sweets. Knead spelled like _k-n-e-a-d_. Stupid pun but she has amazing tiny cakes with this buttercream icing I would probably kill you for, Claude, and _definitely_ you, Hilda.” 

Hilda turns and hisses, tail going straight and even puffier. Lysithea’s nose twitches and her pointy ears go back flat. She sticks her tongue out. 

“Ladies,” says Claude, but he knows this is just the two of them being...the two of them. “I’m trying to tell you about the hot lion. He prowled. I saw him! In the grass, just like they say lions do.” 

“Aw.” Hilda reaches over and pats him on the head. “Your ears are, like, so cute right now.”

“They’re always cute,” Claude says. “Anyway, he’s a lion and he’s also hot. Like, he’s huge, blond, I saw him carry in a desk all by himself—” 

“Is he going to let us use the pool, though, like your last neighbors did?” asks Hilda. 

“I thought that house has been vacant for over a year because no one wants to live next door to Claude’s hot mess of a yard,” says Lysithea, giving him a look as she takes out a polishing rag and lovingly caresses the dark cherry-wood of a twelfth-century prayer bench. “And you only used the pool because Claude filled it up with a hose after they moved.” 

“That took _forever_ ,” Claude remembers. “Also, it cost enough on my water bill that I could have just installed my own.” 

“You’d have to like, clear a space in the backyard for that,” Lysithea reminds him. She has opinions on landscaping. To be fair, she has opinions on everything. 

“And ruin my garden?” 

“Those are weeds,” Hilda points out. Lysithea snorts. 

“One man’s weeds are another man’s favorite nap spot, shush. Anyway, I don’t know if he’ll let us use the pool but I bet he’ll put chlorine in it, and like, whatever else you need to make sure it doesn’t grow whatever that stuff was in it again.” 

“I think it had fish by the end of the summer,” Lysithea says. “Or something. It was hard to tell under all the algae.” 

Claude waves a hand. “That’s all algae-infested water under the, uh, trellis, you guys.” Claude heard the realtor asking a contractor if it’d really rained enough over the summer to fill the pool up like that—regardless, the whole thing had been dredged and cleaned before the house was put up for sale. Though their pool parties had to stop midsummer when the growth in the water got too slimy. Claude was pretty sure he did hear a fish or two in there when he’d go out wandering, as he tended to do. 

Regardless, the pool was now sparkling and chlorinated and de-algaed and de-fished, and Claude goes a little dreamy-eyed at thinking about his hot lion neighbor frolicking in the water, shirtless, maybe tossing one of those big inflatable balls around like the lions did at the zoo. 

Or maybe. Toss Claude around. Yeah. Better idea— 

“Claude!” Hilda pulls on one of his antlers, which he’s adorned today with a strand of LED light-up stars that flash rainbow colors. “I need to meet my girl, but make friends with this lion so I can come over and use his pool. And stare at him, if he’s hot.” 

“You don’t even like the water,” Lysithea says, arranging a display of tomes that were once said to contain the spells for dark magic. Claude’s acquisition specialists had picked them up somewhere near Enbarr, but the details were kind of shady. So were the acquisition specialists. Claude always bought their stuff, though; Jeritza, a jackal hybrid, looked at him like he was waiting for Claude to die so he could pick his carcass clean. And Byleth, well…

People said there were no such things as dragons, but...yeah. They had the best stuff and they had decided to only sell to Claude, as long as they could park their scary RV outside his house and sometimes use his washing machine. 

After Hilda leaves, Claude enters the new inventory into the computer system Linhardt set him up with; it’s a simple accounting software that is supposed to save Claude both time and money and so far has yet to do either of those things. He doesn’t _really_ need the income, exactly; the shop and the house were both his inheritance from his maternal grandfather, since Claude was the only von Riegan to be born a hybrid. But he wants to pay a fair wage for his employees, even if Lysithea spends a lot of time either lecturing him or telling every customer that the antiques are haunted. 

Speaking of. 

Claude looks around the shop, wondering if there’s something he can snag for his new neighbor that will be a sexy sort of gift that will make him want to invite Claude and his friends over for a pool party. Even if Hilda will just lay in the sun and hiss at anyone who tries to make her get in the water, and Lysithea will hide under a black ruffled parasol to keep herself out of the sun and only get in the pool once the sun goes down. Not because she’s a rabbit hybrid, but because she’s never gotten over her teenage goth lolita phase. 

And she’s really pale. 

She’s staring at the jewelry display, back foot thumping down on the floor in that way that means she’s completely unaware she’s doing it. Her ears rotate around, one pointing toward Claude before he even _says_ anything. That’s creepy. Claude moves as quiet as his animal hybrid, but she can hear _everything_. 

“What?” Claude asks, finally. 

“I think that amulet is cursed,” she says, pointing. “Is that the one Dogbreath brought with Scaleface last time?” 

“You have _got_ to stop calling them that,” Claude says, but he’s grinning. “Nah, I got that from this estate sale last time I was at home visiting my parents. It’s Almyran.” 

“It can still be cursed, Claude.” 

Lysithea is convinced two-thirds of their stock is cursed, a third is haunted, and the other third is fake. 

“I know, but it isn’t. Probably. Look, I should bring the lion something nice, yeah? Besides my famous casserole.” 

Lysithea rolls her eyes. “You have a famous casserole?” 

“Just because the only thing you eat is sugar with more sugar topped with sugar—” 

“Are you talking about that one that is literally two boxes of wild rice, whipping cream and a bag of shredded cheese?” 

“It’s _comforting_ ,” Claude protests. “And yes. But there’s also some celery, some mushrooms, other vegetables. Lots of people like it!” 

“Don’t lions eat, like. Steak?” 

“He’s not an _actual lion_ , Lysithea. You know he can also eat side dishes with his meat.” Claude waggles his eyebrows, then gives her a sympathetic look. “Sorry, that might have been too suggestive for your cute baby bunny ears to—” 

She thumps her foot hard enough to make the display case rattle, ears going back immediately. “Watch it, Bambi.” 

Claude smirks at her, but goes back to looking through the shop. He finds the perfect thing tucked into a shelf next to some antique perfume bottles and a vial of “genuine dragon’s blood”—he doesn’t want to ask, really—and picks it up. It’s a brass lion’s head doorknocker, and it’s _perfect_. He shows Lysithea. “Eh? Eh?” 

“Little on the nose, isn’t it?” 

“You ain’t _lion_ ,” he says, and laughs outright at her groan. But her ears twitch and she smiles before she can stop herself. “I’ll take this and make my tasty casserole, and he can eat it with his steak or beef ramen or whatever—” 

Lysithea scoffs. “Who eats rice with pasta?” 

“I’ve seen you eat cake with extra icing for lunch and wash it down with a Coke, Lysithea.” He eyes her. “Rabbits don’t eat cake. Let the lion eat my cheesy rice and gaze upon my thoughtful housewarming gift.” 

“It’s probably haunted,” she says, because of course she does. 

Claude leaves the shop in her capable hands and heads out to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients for his favorite cheesy rice casserole. It’s just the tail-end of winter, heading into spring, so there’s a bit of a bite in the air and the casserole is nice and warm and filling. Perfect for a new homeowner. 

Claude pulls his car into the driveway—it’s a classic Impala convertible, bright yellow, and it was also his grandfather’s. Claude restored it shortly after he inherited the house and the shop, though mostly it was his friend Leonie who got it back in working order. She’d almost cried when she’d handed him the keys. It’s the first thing she asks about whenever she calls. 

He slows down as he approaches his street. His house is a bright yellow Victorian (his uncle had a whole _theme_ ) with dark green trim, almost the same color as Claude’s von Riegan green eyes. The lawn, the subject of much derision and contention among his neighbors, is overgrown with wildflowers and brambles and bushes; great for a deer to hide in and enjoy some peace and fucking quiet. 

Every other week in the spring and summer, he gets letters from some unofficial “make the neighborhood beautiful” organization that he ignores. His house _is_ beautiful. The overgrown gardens, the koi ponds you almost fall into because of said gardens, all of it is his _aesthetic_. The house itself is freshly painted and the windows clean and sparkling, the wood floors polished and gleaming. But the outside is wild and untamed and every time someone walks by for their evening constitutional, they say things like _I wish that lad would move_ or _what if we just waited for him to leave and went at it with a weedwacker_. Because they can’t see Claude on his porch or lurking in his beautiful mess of a lawn, so they don’t know he can hear them and how he totally matches their faces with their Nextdoor app profiles. Just try and weed his garden, Mr. Wilhem Mahler from three streets down who has a yappy dog and is maybe buying drugs from the ice-cream truck dude.

There’s no letters, but there is an ancient, beat-up pickup truck in the lion’s driveway. The hybrid himself is carrying beams of wood on his broad—very, very broad—shoulders from the driveway around the back of the house, and Claude brings in his groceries and then sneaks very quietly over to the edge of his property so he can peer at the lion from amidst the trees. All they have is a wrought-iron fence between Claude’s house and his; from his vantage point, Claude can see there is a pile of wood and some power tools. 

So, the lion can use power tools? And here, Claude didn’t think he could get more attractive. With a grin, he goes to make his casserole and formulate a plan. 

The plan is this; an hour and a half later, Claude strolls across to the house, freshly showered and beard trimmed and hair pulled back with a bright scarf, in a plain black shirt and skinny jeans and a hoodie that is just a little too tight, with a sly smile and a casserole expertly put together in a pyrex dish, the lion head knocker in a yellow bag with the store’s logo and a jaunty green bow. His plan is to wander over, engage the lion in some fun flirtatious behavior, see if he’s maybe single or how he feels about Claude hosting some pool parties in a few weeks, that sort of thing. 

The lion is in his backyard, dressed in jeans with a tank top and his messy blond hair pulled back. He’s got real cute ears, rounded and everything, and his tail is swishing a little as he curses and kicks at a board in a fit of temper. Whatever he’s doing is not working out, if the half-assembled pieces and weird, bent, off-center nails are anything to go by. 

Maybe Mr. Lion isn’t that good at this.

He actually _snarls_ , a sound so primitive and _alpha_ that Claude goes still as—well, a deer—and his ears swish, his breathing light as he feels his natural instincts react to the sound of a predator. But he’s also human enough to have other things react, and wow, was that ever hot. Hybrids aren’t generally bound by pure animal instinct alone unless something’s gone very wrong, so mostly he can enjoy the alertness and the fact that the snarling lion is muttering and prowling around in pure annoyance. 

Claude clears his throat, standing carefully at the space between the driveway and the gate to the yard. The lion whirls around, Claude goes still and quiet for a moment, partly out of instinct and partly just to watch the magnificent sight of the man stalking toward him. 

“Hi,” Claude says, holding up his offerings. “I’m your neighbor. Came to welcome you to the neighborhood, but I can come back if you—” He stops, because Claude is very smart and he can finally put together what it is the lion is trying to build, and… “Is that _a cat tree_?” he asks, incredulous. He recognizes it, it’s similar to Hilda’s even if it’s sixty times less extravagant and also not pink and made out of fake fur. “Because I think you might need, uh. Something a little less...domesticated.” 

***

Dimitri should have known.

He should have known when he was twelve, and his middle school history teacher decided to teach kids about a distant Adrestian revolution by making them build functional guillotines out of popsicle sticks and tin foil, and Dimitri came into class with a monstrosity of glue and splinters. He should have known when he accidentally crushed the skull of a clay mouse in pottery class. He should have known when he was in college, sitting in the detritus of what should have been a dresser made of cardboard and plywood, while Glenn Fraldarius stood in the doorway and laughed until his eyes watered. But no. He wants this to be _special._ He wants to do this _himself._

Which means he’s spent most of the morning cursing under his breath, apologizing to planks of _wood,_ hammering nails into frankly bewildering shapes, and in one memorable moment, nailing a joint to the ground.

He shakes out his sore fingers as he stalks towards his neighbor, and tries not to bristle at the implication that his makeshift cat tree isn’t… big enough? Fancy enough? Hell, he doesn’t think Felix likes bells and whistles, exactly, but perhaps a cushion wouldn’t go amiss here or there.

“Thank you,” he says. “It’s more of a… a frame, right now.”

The second shelf of what should be a functional cat tree cracks ominously, and the entire construction goes tottering to the ground in an almighty crash of wood and bent nails. His neighbor’s ears go up, but the small smile is still there, wry and a little bemused. 

“Or a pile,” Dimitri says.

“You look like you might need a break,” his neighbor says. Dimitri tries to remember if he’s ever heard his name. He thinks the neighbors may have said something once about a Riegan who just wouldn’t _move,_ but he doesn’t want to make assumptions. “Or, well. Are you basing this off an instruction manual, or…”

Dimitri can feel the blush crawling up his neck.

“Huh,” his neighbor says. “You might want to. Do that.”

“I’ve seen these things before,” Dimitri explains. A plank of wood rolls off the pile and goes rattling onto the driveway. “But yes, I think I could use a break. I’m Dimitri. Dimitri Blaiddyd.”

“Claude von Riegan,” his neighbor says. “You know, that does seem a little small for you, all things considered.

“This isn’t for me,” Dimitri says. He takes the casserole from Claude to be polite, because he’s always uncomfortable when someone else is carrying something when his hands are empty, and gestures to the back yard. “Come in, please. I’ll find us some plates.”

Dimitri leads Claude in a wide berth around the remains of the cat tree— _I do apologize, but I may have lost a few nails_ —past some weak excuses for shelves wobbling on their supports, and a pile of notes he’s tacked to the wall, all hastily scribbled from blueprints he found on the internet. Claude slows for a moment to squint at them, and Dimitri hurries over to the wire table and chair set by the pool. He sets down the casserole and pulls out a chair, and Claude gives him a curious look before he sits.

“Wait right here,” Dimitri says, and before he can stop himself, scoots Claude closer to the table. He flees for the kitchen before Claude can say anything to _that,_ and thankfully Claude chooses not to comment on it when he returns with plates for the casserole.

“Before I forget,” Claude says, and drops a bag on the table. “A housewarming gift. Saw it and thought of you.”

“That’s kind of you,” Dimitri says. He unties the ribbon and can’t quite suppress a bark of laughter as he pulls out a lion’s head knocker. “I’m so sorry. No, it’s lovely, I swear, it’s just that my father had something like this on _his_ door when I was a child. It’s like a spiritual successor.”

“It’s meant to be, then,” Claude says, and when he smiles, his eyes crinkle slightly, and Dimitri can’t help but notice the sharp line of his jaw and the muscles bunching at his shoulders as he leans back in his chair.

“Y-yes.” He serves Claude first out of habit, then examines the casserole. Vegetables and rice—just the kind of thing a deer hybrid would go for. “You’re the first to welcome us to the neighborhood, in fact.”

“Us?” Claude says.

“Ah, well, my boyfriend. He isn’t… he hasn’t moved in, yet, but I’m…” He gestures to the mess that used to be a cat tree, as well as haphazardly-nailed shards of wood leading up the trunk of a sturdy oak. “I’m getting it ready, first. He’s a cat hybrid. Personally, I’m happy with a nice place to relax in the yard, but Felix is, he’s special.” He smiles. “I want this to be as much his home as mine.”

“So you’re building it all on your own?” Claude asks. He glances down at Dimitri’s right hand, which is marked with bandages and the bruise of hammer blows. “I’m pretty sure there are some that come pre-assembled. I can check online—”

“No.” Dimitri redoes the tie holding back his hair. “I need to do this myself. Except it seems that half of my creations might kill him by accident.”

Claude nods slowly. Dimitri’s phone buzzes, and he hastily tucks it back in his pocket before Claude can see the name on the screen. He can’t bring himself to talk to Felix now, not when he’s just built a functional death trap and a ladder even an eight year-old with a hammer and scrap lumber would be ashamed of. 

“Would you accept an assistant?” Claude asks. He tilts his head, and his antlers cross over the sun, making Dimitri blink and squint. “I helped my friend set up hers. Which means I mostly set it up while she lounged aggressively at me. Does your boyfriend do that?”

“Everything Felix does is vaguely aggressive,” Dimitri says, with a fond smile. “You’re certain, though? I’m not sure—they say every hybrid has different tastes—”

“Take a look,” Claude says, and pushes a cell phone in Dimitri’s hands. The photo on the screen is of a young woman with bright pink hair and a tail that might possibly be bejeweled, flopped onto a cushioned seat at the top of a massive, fur-trimmed cat tree. One of her legs is sticking up like some kind of dancer, and she’s kissing a bicep and winking at the camera.

“That’s Hilda,” Claude says. “She’s fantastic.”

Dimitri zooms in on the tree. There are bells hanging from some of the nooks, at least two curved sections for napping, three screens bolted into the walls so Hilda can watch TV, and what looks like a _pedicure_ station down at the bottom. Dimitri cranes his neck to examine the pile of broken wood in the grass, then up at Claude, who is propping his feet up on an empty chair.

“So?” Claude says. “What do you think?”

“I think I might need an assistant,” Dimitri says, in a dazed voice. Claude’s smile broadens, and he tips his head back on the chair, looking almost as catlike as Felix at his best.

“Consider it done.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casey/[eggyankee](https://twitter.com/eggyankee) on Twitter has this whole headcanon that if Glenn had lived, he'd be shorter than adult Felix. I haven't been able to get that idea out of my head since I saw the art, and I just had to incorporate it into this fic. :D Go check out Casey's work. It's great! -Boo

“Bye, coach! See ya Friday!”

Felix forces a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and waves off the last of his young fencing students. As soon as the boy disappears around the corner, Felix lets the expression slip and locks the door with a decisive _click._

Swordpoint, the fencing club he co-owns with his older brother, Glenn, is usually one of Felix’s sanctuaries, but he’s been distracted and restless all day. Instead of offering comfort, the familiar walls feel suffocating, closing around him like a clenched fist, and tonight, he just wants out.

Felix dims the main overhead lights—his night vision is good enough he sees everything crisply without them—and handles the rest of his responsibilities on autopilot.

He checks the gear and puts everything back in its proper place; ensures the épées, foils, and sabres are safely stowed where they belong; turns off the electronic scoring machines; inspects the fencing strips and specialty, low-impact flooring for scuffs or any areas that might need cleaning or repairs.

The wall-length mirror across the room shows his tail lashing behind him. In his pocket, his phone buzzes, and he goes for it so fast it almost flies out of his hand when he yanks it from his pocket.

His heart leaps when he sees a new text notification—only to promptly plummet to the region of his stomach when he notices it’s from Annette and not his wayward boyfriend, who’s been conspicuously absent and uncommunicative for the past week.

Felix ignores the disappointment and thumbs open the message anyway.

**Annette:** _Have you heard from him yet?!_

Growling, Felix types his response, the claws he subconsciously unsheathed clacking against the screen—two letters, both in caps. _NO._

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Why his tail is lashing, why he wants to go down on all fours and use these nice, expensive, no-slip floors as his personal scratching post. He won’t because Glenn would snatch one of the antique, ceremonial swords off the dark-paneled walls and run him through right where he stood, but it’s tempting.

For now, the floors are safe, lest he incite Glenn’s rage—and then his own, later, when he regretted the impulsivity—but _something_ is getting shredded tonight, and Dimitri will be lucky if it’s not his stupidly attractive face.

Felix can’t imagine what possible excuse his boyfriend might have for letting his last two calls go to voicemail or ignoring his recent text messages. They’d both gotten their first cell phones in their mid-teens, and at no point since then has Dimitri _ever_ let Felix’s texts go unanswered. Even before they started dating, Dimitri never left Felix on read. Not for hours, let alone days. It just wasn’t a thing that happened.

Until now, apparently.

“Wow, who pissed in your Meow Mix, bro?”

Felix turns with a snarl to see Glenn watching him, framed by the doorway to the office. “Really? Cat food jokes, as if you’re not a hybrid, too?”

Glenn smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “But the thing is, unlike others whose names I won’t mention, _I_ have a sense of humor.”

Felix shoves his phone into his pocket, ignoring the stream of incoming texts from Annette. She’s probably making up all sorts of excuses for Dimitri because she’s kind and _positive_ and doesn’t assume the worst, always, in every situation. “I have a sense of humor,” Felix grumbles.

Glenn arches his brows. His eyes are blue with slit pupils like their father’s while Felix inherited their mother’s amber, but to anyone who cares to look, it’s obvious they’re related. They share the same sharp features, fair skin, inky dark hair, and pointed ears with sleek, long tails to match. They might pass for identical twins at a glance, were it not for the fact that Glenn is several inches shorter.

“Maybe when it comes to dorky sword puns and Annette’s ridiculous songs.” Glenn steps forward and claps a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “But, see, this is the reason you and Dimitri are so perfect for each other. You’re Mr. Serious, and he’s so earnest, and when he does try to joke, it’s painful—”

Felix bristles. “That’s not true. He’s funny.” Most people don’t catch Dimitri’s quiet snark, but he makes Felix laugh all the time. “And Annette’s songs aren’t ridiculous. They’re creative.”

“I think your bias is showing.” Glenn squeezes his shoulder. “But really, what’s the problem? You’re out here prowling around, growling at your phone. Did Dimitri break your bed frame again? I told you, if you’re going to date an apex predator, you need to buy something reinforced. Or maybe just put the mattress and box spring on the floor, it’ll—”

“We did not break another bed frame,” Felix hisses, his face going up in flames. _Saints._ He should’ve never told his brother what happened when he needed help putting the replacement frame together. Now, he’s never going to hear the end of it. Besides, it was _one_ time—well, in _this_ apartment—and Dimitri apologized for three days straight and even reimbursed Felix for the new one.

“So, what, then?”

“Dimitri asked me to move in.”

“Okay?” Glenn says slowly. “And this is… bad?”

“No.” Felix’s tail lashes again. “It’s just—that was last week, and ever since then he’s been incommunicado.”

“Ah.” Glenn nods, his ears flicking. “You think he’s having second thoughts?”

“I don’t know,” Felix snaps. But of course, if this were a fencing match, Glenn would’ve scored a point with that hit.

“Felix,” Glenn says, growing serious. He lives for giving Felix a hard time, but he’s also the one Felix goes to when he’s most in need of advice, and he knows when to stop joking. “How long have you been dating? I mean, seriously. This is _Dimitri_. He’s loved you since we were kids. He’s not going to change his mind about something like this. Hell, he’s probably been planning it for _years._ ”

“Then _why_ is he suddenly avoiding me?” Felix’s chest rumbles with another growl, and he can _feel_ his tail puffing up.

“Ask him.” Glenn steps back and gestures toward the door. “I can finish up here. Go find your man and ask him. You’ve always had a straightforward fighting style. You best your opponents with skill and speed, not sneaky strategies, right? So, handle this as you would any other bout. Head on.”

Felix looks around the studio. Everything’s already pretty much in order. Still, this is _his_ job. Glenn’s name is posted as Master of Arms, and he does tutor a few of their high-level competitors who want to go on to teach themselves, but he also has a whole career outside of fencing and mostly handles the business aspects Felix would rather not deal with. Felix doesn’t want to add anything more to Glenn’s plate. “Are you sure?”

“ _Go_ , Felix. I just need to finish these invoices.” Glenn turns back toward the office. “Let me know what happens,” he adds with a wave, and then firmly shuts the door behind him.

“Fine,” Felix says to the empty room. Glenn is right. He prefers to deal with problems directly. Why waste another moment worrying about what Dimitri is thinking when Felix can just ask him to his face?

He grabs his messenger bag from the bench where he left it and heads out.

Ten minutes later, he parks his sleek, black vintage Stingray behind The Blue Lion, the bar Dimitri inherited when his father and step-mother retired to warmer climes. This late in the evening, the lot is packed. It’s a craft night, if Felix isn’t mistaken, which means most of the customers will be occupied with knitting or cross-stitching or something else involving needles and fabric, and Dimitri might be able to excuse himself from tending bar long enough for him and Felix to have a conversation.

Ashe, one of the human servers and the fiancé of Dimitri’s best friend, Dedue, shoots him a cheery smile when he walks in. “Hey, Felix!”

“Hi, Ashe. Is Dimitri around?”

“Yep, he’s in the storeroom.”

“Thanks.” Felix heads in that direction, returning the wave Mercedes sends him from The Den—the lounge area where people sit at tables doing whatever craft she has on the docket tonight. Felix can see skeins of yarn, but he isn’t sure if it’s knitting or crocheting or something else entirely. Right now, he’s too preoccupied to ask.

He finds Dimitri moving heavy kegs around, and Felix can’t resist stopping to admire the way Dimitri’s muscles shift beneath his thin T-shirt, the bulge of his biceps, the flex of his powerful thighs. _Damn._ It really is unfair how hot Dimitri is, how he can distract Felix, albeit temporarily, even when he’s irritated.

Felix sees Dimitri’s ears twitch, the black markings on the back visible against the blond of his hair. He’s heard that in actual lions, the black markings help the members of a pride follow each other through tall grasses. He thinks, for a second, he’d follow Dimitri anywhere. Then Dimitri sets the keg down and swings toward him, looking guilty, and Felix is abruptly reminded why he’s there.

“Ah, Felix! I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

“Clearly.” Felix crosses his arms. “We need to talk.”

“Okay.” Dimitri rubs his hands against the sides of his jeans. “Here, or…?”

“The office.” Felix turns and leads the way. If this conversation is going to get intense—and he has a feeling it might—he wants to have it in private. In the storeroom, anyone could walk in on them.

As soon as he’s closed and locked the door behind them, Felix rounds on Dimitri, who’s standing in front of the desk. He doesn’t move to greet Felix properly, with kisses and nuzzles like he normally would. He just stands there, and he smells… anxious.

The second Felix recognizes the scent, it triggers a nervous response of his own. His tail whips behind him and his ears go back.

“You’ve been avoiding me all week. Are you getting cold feet?” he asks, point blank. No sense delaying the inevitable. “About asking me to move in?”

Dimitri’s jaw slackens. “What? _No._ Never.” But then his ears flatten and his tail gives a fast, agitated swish, thumping hard against the desk. Shame washes across his face.

_Shame?_ Felix’s lips part in shock. He sucks in air, trying to confirm what he saw. Why would Dimitri be ashamed, why would he look and smell so anxious? Unless he’s… _lying?_

“You…” Felix stares up at him, eyes wide.

Dimitri extends a hand, taking a step toward him. “Felix—” He stops short at Felix’s angry snarl.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” Felix growls, and he doesn’t let himself feel bad about Dimitri’s wounded expression.

Why should _he_ look hurt? It’s Felix who’s been neglected all week—and whose boyfriend apparently regrets inviting him to move in.

Without another word, Felix whirls, unlocks the door with shaky fingers, and flees the bar. He ignores Ashe’s startled yelp as he streaks past and nearly upends a tray of drinks, ignores the sound of Dimitri calling after him. Dimitri is bigger, but Felix is faster, and he makes it to his car and peels out of the parking lot before Dimitri can catch up to him.

Felix fights back rageful tears the entire drive to the apartment he shares with his best friend, Sylvain, and if a few escape and he has to swipe them away with the back of his hand, he’ll deny it with his dying breath. He’s not the emotional little kid he used to be, crying over everything, needing his older brother to put band-aids on scraped knees or his mom to kiss his boo-boos better and stroke his hair. Adult Felix is made of sterner stuff than that—or so he tells himself. But it’s hard to believe when, hours later, Sylvain finds him on the couch in their living room, furiously chomping on catnip, Dimitri’s old college lacrosse jersey draped across his lap. His phone, which _now_ is blowing up with texts and calls from Dimitri, sits untouched on the cushion next to him.

“Oh, wow,” Sylvain says, blinking down at Felix with his honey-colored fox eyes. As always, he’s totally gorgeous, even with his ears perked as if he’s braced for trouble and dressed in the simple white-shirt-black-pants combo he wears for his job as a server in a ritzy restaurant downtown. “You look…” He wisely doesn’t finish the sentence.

Felix knows how he looks. Bleary from all the catnip, probably. His hair loose and tangled, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. He’s also kneading Dimitri’s jersey like a young kitten and has one of the “happy feels” playlists Annette made him streaming on a loop. He’s a mess.

“What happened?” Sylvain asks. “Oh, goddess, is that what I think it is?” He reaches for the jersey, and before Felix can stifle the urge, he hisses and takes a swipe at Sylvain’s hand.

“Ah, fuck!” Sylvain scrambles back, cradling his hand against his chest.

Felix can see the bright red stripes where his claws pierced the skin. His ears flatten, and his face crumples. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, Sylvain. I didn’t mean to.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “It’s okay. I should’ve known better than to try to take something from you when you’re obviously in a bad mood.”

Felix slides his gaze away, his face hot with embarrassment. “Maybe, but I should be able to control myself. Fuck, I’m sorry. I just…”

“What?” Sylvain prompts.

“I don’t know.” Felix lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Dimitri and I are fighting? Or something? He asked me to move in, but now he’s acting like he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want to tell me.” He relates what happened at the bar, how Dimitri looked shame-faced when Felix asked him outright if he’d gotten cold feet.

“So, change his mind again,” Sylvain suggests.

Felix just stares at him.

Sylvain reaches for one of the tissues from the box on the coffee table and dabs at the bleeding scratches. “I mean, remind him of what he’ll be getting when you’re living together.”

“What will he be getting?” Felix asks, brow furrowed.

Sylvain gives him an incredulous look. “ _You_ , dumbass. Access to Felix Fraldarius’s ass whenever he likes. No roommates to overhear when you break the bed frame and crash to the floor.”

“Ugh. What is with people mentioning the bed frame thing tonight?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” Felix sighs. “So, you’re suggesting… what?”

“Be sluttier!” Sylvain says cheerfully. “Show up at his door in nothing but a trench coat and thigh highs. Be waiting, naked, on all fours, the next time he gets home from work. I don’t know. He’s your boyfriend. Just announce it’s time for his nightly dick-flattening and show him what you can do with his giant cock.”

“ _Sylvain._ ” The name elongates on a hiss, and Felix flexes his claws in the material of the jersey.

“Hey, hey.” Sylvain holds his hands up, palms forward. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen his dick print through those gray sweatpants, okay, I know what he’s packing.” His fluffy white-tipped tail wags behind him, and Felix narrows his eyes as Sylvain grins. “Okay, fine, don’t take my advice, just sit here pouting, eating catnip and listening to this aggressively happy playlist. Although how you can stand it, I don’t know. It’s like a literal assault on my eardrums right now.”

Felix just grumps and morosely shoves more catnip into his mouth.

“Well, then.” Sylvain slaps his thighs and stands. “Shower time. I’m meeting some of my castmates for dinner, and I do not want to smell like surf and turf. Or as they call it at my place, ‘Selections of land and sea.’” He stops to stroke one of Felix’s sensitive ears. “It’ll be okay. Even if Dimitri _is_ having cold feet, which I doubt, he’ll get over it, and you guys will be back to normal in no time. You’re like, couple goals. People would give a lot to have what you two do.”

He saunters off toward the bathroom, and Felix looks down at the white and blue jersey. It lost the smell of Dimitri ages ago, but still, he lifts it to his face, nuzzling and inhaling. Maybe—and it pains him to even _think_ this—Sylvain has a point.

Felix and Dimitri haven’t touched for a solid week. This is unheard of for them. Perhaps all Dimitri needs is a reminder of how good they are together, and then he’ll get over this… whatever it is.

Felix will go over there in the morning—it’ll be Thursday, one of Dimitri’s usual days off before the busy weekend—and he’ll remind _the hell_ out of Dimitri.

Decision made, Felix abandons the catnip and takes Dimitri’s jersey to his bedroom. He’ll curl up on it to sleep, which he only ever does when he’s feeling especially needy. Tonight is, unfortunately, one of those nights.

Tomorrow, though, he’s going to set Dimitri straight. Metaphorically speaking.

Of course, because it’s Felix, it doesn’t go according to plan. At first, it seems like it’ll all be fine. Felix dresses in Dimitri’s favorite shirt—a pretty teal that nicely complements both his skin and his eyes—stops to pick up Dimitri’s favorite drink, a chamomile latte from the café they both love, and then pulls up to Dimitri’s house at a little after ten.

For a few seconds, Felix sits in the car, hesitating. Why he’s nervous to see the man he’s been dating for years and known since practically birth, he can’t comprehend.

_Ugh._ Why are feelings so hard to deal with?

Felix huffs and then undoes the first couple of buttons on his shirt, revealing his collarbones. He grabs the cup containing Dimitri’s latte and goes to get out of the Stingray, but on second thought, sets it down again and pulls the elastic out of his hair, letting the dark strands fall loose around his shoulders.

There, that’s good enough. Dimitri loves him with his hair down. He doesn’t have to resort to showing up in lingerie and a trench coat, dammit. Though, maybe they can do that just for fun some other time.

Felix gets out of the car, starts up the path, and it isn’t until he’s almost at the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch that he realizes Dimitri’s dilapidated old pickup truck isn’t in the driveway.

“Great. Just fucking great.” Felix didn’t think to call to make sure Dimitri would be home. Dimitri isn’t an early riser. Felix expected to find him still in bed or just rolling out of it.

Felix digs his phone out of his pocket and hits Dimitri’s contact. It rings… and rings… and cuts to voicemail, just like it’s done the last two times he’s tried to call. Felix hangs up, tries again. Same thing.

Snarling, he turns back toward his car. Screw this. He’s not going to wait around for a boyfriend who’s obviously avoiding him. Felix feeds off the anger, using his rage to smother the hurt building in his chest.

He doesn’t _understand._ This isn’t like Dimitri at all.

With his phone in one hand and the drink in the other, Felix is forced to stop and put the cup down before he can unlock the door. Vintage means no automatic locks, and though normally he doesn’t mind, right now, his hands are trembling so badly he has to stop trying to insert the key for fear of scratching the paint.

Felix growls again, tail lashing furiously, and his eyes land on the latte sitting on the roof of his car.

Felix bats it away in a fit of pique, the impulse too strong to control, and watches as it falls, hits the blacktop, and bursts open. Warm milky latte spreads into a puddle, filling the air with the sweet, herbal scent of chamomile. Usually, knocking stuff off flat surfaces satisfies some primitive, feline instinct in him, but this time, the satisfaction doesn’t come. He feels _worse_ somehow. Disappointed. And the achingly familiar smell reminds him of Dimitri.

“Hey, there,” a voice calls. “You must be Felix.”

Felix’s head jerks up. A deer hybrid with golden-brown skin and dark, wavy hair half-hidden by a brightly patterned scarf stands a bit down the sidewalk, in front of the massively overgrown lawn next door.

“How do you know that?” Felix asks suspiciously. “Who are you?”

The guy holds up a hand. “Claude. I’m Dimitri’s neighbor. He’ll be back soon. He ran to the hardware store to get a replacement for the hinge we broke.”

“We?” Felix’s eyes narrow. “And how _the fuck_ do you know what his plans are?”

***

There’s a misconception about deer hybrid, that they’re afraid of any creature that is technically a carnivore. And maybe, _maybe_ , that’s true for _actual deer_ , but Claude is also mostly a person and he is not afraid of housecats.

This is probably because he’s spent a lot of time around Hilda. She’s not so much scary as just a lot of work.

Dimitri is an apex predator, which is definitely different. But he’s also nice. This guy—Felix, the boyfriend—has a scowl, a puffed up tail, and Claude just watched him bat a latte off a truly badass little car.

He’s also _gorgeous_. Like, straight-up beautiful, with this inky dark hair and pale skin and slitted pupils in his amber eyes, a tail that is probably sleek like his hair when it’s not puffed up, and ears that are probably cute when they’re not flat to his head.

“I’m helping him with a DIY project. I’m guessing it’s for you, he told me you were moving in,” Claude says. Wow, he did not see Dimitri having a boyfriend who was so cranky. He did imagine he’d be hot.

Imagined it in the shower. A few times. Maybe. Whatever, Dimitri is hot. But this is not exactly the sort of thing you get yourself off thinking about, the hot boyfriend glaring at you.

Except that Felix stops glaring—well, sort of. His tail gradually de-puffs, still swishing but no longer twice its usual size. And his ears slowly migrate back to a normal position. He doesn’t look friendly, exactly, but a lot less like he wants to hiss and claw Claude’s face off.

He also, though grudgingly and quickly, shakes Claude’s hand. “Oh. Hi. Uh.” He pulls his hand away and rakes his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m Felix.” His eyes dart around, taking in the spilled latte, and his face heats, tail going low in the universal feline symbol for embarrassment.

“Hey, you want to come over until your boyfriend comes back? I have cookies.” Claude grins at him. “To share. If you’re interested. I promise my yard only looks like that ‘cause I’m a deer hybrid who likes annoying the homeowner’s association, not because I’m hiding bodies in the underbrush or anything.”

“Huh,” says Felix, hands in his pockets. His tail swishes. “That’s. Sure a way to say that.”

“Yeah.” Claude smiles easily. “What do you say? I feel bad I startled you into spilling that coffee. I have an espresso maker, if you want. And hey, we’re gonna be neighbors, right?”

They both know Claude didn’t startle him into doing anything, but Felix just shrugs and starts walking, so apparently he’s going to take him up on the cookie offer. Good.

Felix doesn’t seem bothered by the yard, though his feline instincts make him pause and scan around, hearing the sounds of small things skittering in the grass and the underbrush.

“Uh.” Felix blinks as they enter the low-lit house. “This is, um. Very.”

“Oh, right. So, I inherited this house and an antique store, Failnaught, from my grandfather.” Claude waves a hand toward the admittedly weird decor of his house. “He was into collecting, I think the store was just the shit he didn’t have room for. My bedroom is less weird, I had to clean out the tribal masks from the wall because when I woke up, it was like a lot of people staring at me and, yeah.” He shakes his head. “I sold those. Sorry, grandpa. Anyway, the kitchen is this way.”

Claude leads Felix through the house, pointing out a few of the sillier, weirder, and outright strange items from his grandfather’s collection; which have been augmented by Claude’s decor selections, namely photographs and art made by his more creatively-inclined friends. There’s a gorgeous landscape from Claude’s native Almyra that Ignatz painted as a birthday gift, a photograph of him, Lysithea, Hilda, Ignatz, and Marianne in the store the day Claude re-opened as the owner, and one of Leonie grinning from the interior of his classic Impala.

Felix is quiet as he sits at the kitchen table, and he accepts the tea and cookies that Claude gives him—Claude feeling a bit like a grandmother in a fairy tale, except a vaguely horny one given how he’s staring at Felix—and says, after he eats one, “This is good.”

“Glad you think so,” Claude says. “The cookies are oatmeal, cranberry and dark chocolate—my coworker at the shop will only eat them if I bring her icing. She says they’re a granola bar, not a cookie.”

“I’m not really into sweet,” Felix says, which, since they just met and Felix’s tail is still swishing a bit, Claude does _not_ respond with _yeah, I noticed._

“You can take some. I meant to give some to Dimitri, actually.”

“Sorry about before,” Felix says, a little gruffly. “I was... it wasn’t you.”

Claude smiles at him, more like a fox than a deer. He can definitely see why Dimitri likes this guy, he’s gorgeous and a little wild, domesticated just _enough_ to purr but not too much that he won’t go a little feral in a fun way, every now and again.

“It’s okay,” Claude assures him. “Moving is stressful. How about I make some more tea, and you tell me how you and the lion came to be making a den together?”


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you sure this is the right joint?”

Dimitri crouches on the sawdust-strewn floor of the closest home repair shop and holds his phone up to a bucket of hinges, only just missing the handwritten sign on the lip. On the screen, his father’s sunburned face squints from under a massive blue visor and frowns a little.

Calling his father was supposed to be a last resort. Dimitri’s father has been off celebrating his early retirement by taking his wife sailing between every tourist trap they can find, and it feels like admitting to failure to have to call for help. Still, there’s just too much of everything here, and all the employees assume Dimitri knows what he’s doing and are leaving him alone to flounder in a sea of hinges. _Hinges._ A door to the cat tree entertainment center should not be this complicated.

“I don’t know, son, it looks alright to me,” his father says. “I mostly winged it when I built the bar, you know. Trial and error, best way to learn.”

Dimitri considers this morning’s attempt to make a railing for the treehouse. “Yes,” he says, slowly. “But is this the right hinge?”

“I suppose.” His father takes a glass from off camera. There’s a paper butterfly attached to the straw, and the liquid inside is a toxic green. “This is for your little cat friend, yes?”

“Felix,” Dimitri says. “Yes.”

“Good. You should ask Ellie to help you. She has a good design sense. Very avant garde.” He pronounces it _avaint gourd-ey,_ and beams as though suggesting Edelgard’s help will accomplish anything other than stalling the project forever. Dimitri and his step-sister’s version of getting along usually includes five hours of passionate debate about subjects they both forget, followed by _someone_ getting pushed into the pool. They care about each other, sure, but they probably shouldn’t be put in the same place with a garage full of saws.

God _forbid_ he call her Ellie.

“Just go with what your heart tells you, son,” his father says, while Dimitri numbly grabs three hinges from the bucket. “Don’t let the internet tell you what to do. You can’t trust them. I tried making a pie from a recipe the other day, and they tried to tell me that I couldn’t heat it over a bunsen—”

“Thank you,” Dimitri says, hiding a sigh. His tail lashes behind him, kicking up sawdust. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Tell your kitty I said hello,” his father says. He turns from the camera. “Yes, Patricia, I was helping Dima with his project! For that Fraldarius boy! No, no, the other one, the crybaby, yes, the one who was scared of the vacuum cleaner—”

“Dad, no,” Dimitri says. “No, don’t spread this around. It’s a surprise. Please.”

Dimitri is _terrible_ at surprises, most of the time. He just gets so excited, so eager to do something for someone, that he can’t help himself. He’s announced the contents of a present upon handing it over more than once, and there hasn’t been a single anniversary gift that Felix hasn’t known about at least a month ahead of time.

“Who will I tell?” Dimitri’s father asks, as though he won’t text Felix’s dad this afternoon. “Don’t be so anxious, son. Your cat friend loves you. Sweet little thing. Patricia, did I tell you about that time we tried to grow catnip, and the Fraldarius boys had to be dragged out of the yard by their—”

“Love you, father,” Dimitri says. “Thank you.” He turns off the phone.

That’s when he notices the little red dot over his call button.

Dimitri admits that he can be rather slapdash when it comes to organization. Ingrid examined his inbox once, gave him a haunted look, and never commented on the disastrous state of his folders again, and he knows he could probably do better when he gets caught up in a project and misses a meal, leading to him ravenously eating half a loaf of bread at three in the morning, but he does try to check all his calls. Lately, however, he’s been letting them roll over to voicemail, because the tree house just isn’t getting anywhere and the cat tree is practically an oversized box. His stomach sinks when he sees missed calls from Felix’s phone, and his tail nearly knocks into a bin of pipe cleaners.

He needs to get this done, and fast.

He barely pays attention in the checkout line. He considers calling Felix back twice on the way home, and starts to wonder exactly why Felix wanted to call in person. Usually, Felix prefers to text. It’s easier for him to get down his thoughts, even if they’re just _yes_ or _no_ or _where are you_. Calling in person is a sign that something’s weighing on him.

That something’s wrong.

“He would have texted me,” Dimitri says, as he rolls to a stop at a yellow light. Horns blare around him, but with his ears pressed flat and his stomach twisting, Dimitri hardly hears them.

“He’s probably just irritated,” Dimitri tells the hinges, as he inches right past a stop sign and nearly rolls onto a sidewalk.

“He’s fine,” he says to the dashboard, as his truck rattles and wheezes its way into the drive. He takes a deep breath at the sight of Felix’s car on the side of the street, and stops with the truck halfway in the grass behind it, wheels crooked in the torn-up grass. “See?” He looks back at his bags. “He’s fine. He’s fine,” he tells his phone.

He tumbles out of the truck, leaves his phone _and_ his bags inside, and steps right into a dry pool of milky latte, spilled in a vivid puddle right next to Felix’s car.

Dimitri’s ears perk. His tail thrashes as he examines Felix’s car, searching for signs of a struggle, and he whips around, scanning the street. No one’s there.

Perhaps he’s inside. Yes. A lion’s pride tends to hide in the shade, most days, or so his instinct tells him, and Dimitri tries for the door.

It’s locked. Did Felix lock it? Only Dimitri is that fastidious about locking the doors. Felix likes to leave them slightly open, so he can decide whether he wants out, or in, or out again. Dimitri fumbles with the key and bursts into the house.

“Felix?”

No response.

Felix isn’t inside. Dimitri tears through the house, checking in cabinets, in the bathroom, even in the attic he hasn’t really explored yet. Nothing. Not hide nor hair of Felix appears in the midst of Dimitri’s frantic search, and he isn’t in the backyard. Or the pool. Dimitri checks again, just in case. He stalks the perimeter of the house. He digs through the garage. Finally, with his heart in his throat and a growl building in his chest, Dimitri takes to the street.

He checks the garbage can next door, which is possibly a new low for him, really, but Dimitri is working mostly on instinct, now, so when he hears a door open down the street and the murmur of voices, he whirls on one heel and sees—

“Oh, shit,” Felix says.

Dimitri doesn’t run. He doesn’t need to. He has his target right where he wants him.

“Uh, should he be, you know,” Claude, standing beside Felix at the door to his house, makes a gesture with his hand.

“Look, just get out of the pounce radius,” Felix says, and shoves a bag of something into Claude’s hands as Dimitri springs into action, thundering through the overgrown yard and tackling Felix right into Claude’s foyer.

Felix, who only had a second to brace himself, sputters and curses as Dimitri rubs his face in Felix’s neck. He tries to move, which is unacceptable, and Dimitri growls lowly to warn him. Finally, Felix sighs and goes limp, letting Dimitri lick the side of his ear and growl into his neck, all while wrapped up in a tangle of limbs in their neighbor’s foyer.

Claude, standing over them at the doorway, takes a cookie out of the bag, and Dimitri looks up, cheeks burning. “Don’t mind me,” Claude says, through a mouthful of cookie. “Carry on. Hey, Dimitri.”

“Hello, Claude,” Dimitri says, unconsciously pressing Felix’s face to his chest. “I see you’ve met Felix.”

***

In the back of his mind, Felix realizes Dimitri and Claude are speaking, but he barely registers the words. Dimitri’s voice sounds strained, underlain by the low, constant growl still rumbling in his diaphragm, and he has Felix pressed so tightly to his chest all Felix can feel, see, and smell is him.

Felix can’t say he’s particularly happy about being tackled to the floor, let alone having it happen in front of a complete stranger, but his body responds to Dimitri’s scent all the same. Recognition flares inside him. _Mate, lover, protector, friend._ Dimitri surrounds him, holding Felix like he never plans to let him go, and it sets off all of Felix’s baser instincts.

Without thinking, he bites Dimitri’s pec through the thin material of his T-shirt, and he bites _hard_.

Dimitri cuts off and goes rigid against him. In the next second, he just scoops Felix up off the floor and leaps to his feet like Felix’s weight is nothing. Goddess, he’s so fucking _strong_. It’s such a turn-on Felix bites him again, this time in the place where neck meets shoulder. Dimitri outright snarls in response.

If he says anything else to Claude, Felix doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy wrapping his legs around Dimitri’s waist and pulling aside the collar of Dimitri’s T-shirt so he can get his mouth on more skin. He hardly notices as they leave Claude’s house, cross the lawn, stumble into Dimitri’s foyer.

Dimitri slams the door shut behind them, takes him to the couch, and sets Felix down, kneeling in front of him. He immediately tries to go for Felix’s pants, but Felix stops him by pressing a booted foot to the thick bulge beneath the fly of Dimitri’s jeans.

“Ahhh.” Dimitri moans a little, pink blooming on his cheeks as Felix applies more pressure.

“You think you deserve this after how you’ve neglected me all week?” Felix asks. He may be literally panting for Dimitri’s cock, but he’s not ready to forgive and forget just yet. “You owe me an apology.”

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri gasps. He wraps a big hand around Felix’s calf but doesn’t try to remove his foot. He only holds on and spreads his thighs as Felix increases the pressure, just a tiny fraction more. “I’m sorry, Felix.”

“You should be.” Felix drags the toe of his boot down, lower, to just under Dimitri’s balls. He’s not trying to hurt or inflict any real damage, but even the threat of potential pain in such a vulnerable place makes Dimitri shudder. Not with fear, though. Felix knows him well enough to read the arousal in Dimitri’s deepening flush, his parted mouth and quick breaths, the way he tips his head back, staring at Felix through half-closed lids. “Don’t do it again.”

Dimitri licks his lips and nods, once. “I won’t.”

Felix tries to move his foot away, but Dimitri stops him to tug off his boot. He tosses it across the room like it personally offended him and does the same to the other. Seconds later, Felix’s pants and briefs meet a similar fate. Dimitri pushes him back against the cushions, grabs one of Felix’s legs, drapes it over his shoulder, and goes straight for Felix’s hole with his tongue.

Felix hisses, fingers finding Dimitri’s hair and gripping tight. “ _Yes._ ” He moves his free leg, drawing his knee toward his chest to open himself even more, give Dimitri more access. Felix has read about both of their respective animals; he knows his and Dimitri’s tongues aren’t quite as rough as wild lions or domesticated cats—their hybrid status means the spines are softer, more delicate and supple, and the same goes for the barbs on their cocks—but still, they’re distinctly different from a regular human’s. Felix likes the hint of roughness, how it sensitizes the whole area as Dimitri feasts on him.

Dimitri’s pleased rumble makes Felix tremble and pull at his hair. Sometimes Dimitri becomes so hyperfocused and consumed by this. He’ll stay down there, licking and sucking and fingering him until Felix completely falls apart, but that’s not what he wants right now.

“Come here,” he orders. “Prove to me you won’t ignore me again.”

Dimitri straightens up. His hair is an unruly mane, and his mouth is red and wet. He stares at Felix as he undoes his belt and jeans, as he pulls out his hard cock and gives it a leisurely stroke. He’s growling again, his upper lip curled in a snarl as he takes in Felix’s lust-filled scent.

“I’m sorry, Felix,” Dimitri says again. “I’ve been distracted this week, but know that you’re on my mind. Every hour. Every moment.” He spits in his hand, rubs it over his cock, smearing pre-come. “I never stop thinking about you.”

Felix reaches for him with clawed hands, and Dimitri comes to him as willingly as ever. He crouches in front of the couch and mounts Felix, pushing in with deliberate, steady pressure until he’s buried deep. It’s when he starts moving that Felix feels the drag and scratch of the barbs inside him. It hurts, but the pain is inconsequential compared to the ecstasy those same barbs release into his bloodstream. He’s not sure what the biological explanation is. Frankly, he doesn’t care. All he knows is when Dimitri fucks him, it’s the most perfect blend of pleasure and pain, and it makes his dick _throb_ , makes his skin heat and pressure build in his pelvis.

Dimitri pushes Felix’s thighs open wide and slams into him. Felix yowls, arching his back, and the sweat-damp shirt he’s still wearing clings to his chest. His hair will be a tangled mess after Dimitri finishes pounding him into the couch cushions, but it’s worth having it loose for the way Dimitri _stares_ at him. His gaze roves over Felix’s face as his hips keep working, as his cock stretches Felix deliciously. No one else has ever looked at him so lovingly while also absolutely destroying him, and it does things to Felix. Amazing things.

Felix digs his claws into Dimitri’s sides and urges him on, faster, harder. Dimitri’s still fully dressed, with only his cock exposed, and somehow that makes it hotter, that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—spare a single thought to undressing if it would keep him from Felix for even a second longer. Felix loves being wanted like this, loves knowing Dimitri craves him so desperately.

Dimitri presses in deep and leans down to kiss him, a quick, dirty tangle of tongues that rips a moan out of Felix.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Dimitri whispers, kissing him again, softer.

By now, after talking to Claude for a while, Felix knows Dimitri’s been out of touch because he’s working on a project for Felix. Claude didn’t get into the specifics, but Felix gathered it’s supposed to be a surprise. Dimitri, who’s notorious for spoiling his _own_ surprises, is undoubtedly trying his hardest to keep this one a secret. Felix can forgive a week of distraction, of forgotten texts and a few unanswered calls, if it’s because Dimitri was trying to be sweet. But he _still_ doesn’t like being ignored, whatever the reason, so he growls, “You’d better.”

“You mean everything to me.” Dimitri slides out until just the tip remains inside him, barbs dragging with aching slowness.

Felix shivers, a needy, broken mewl escaping his throat, and flexes his claws where they’re digging into Dimitri’s sides.

Dimitri thrusts back in, unhurried, refusing to be rushed no matter how Felix yanks at him. The push in is always smoother, and it draws a different kind of shiver from Felix as the head of Dimitri’s cock rubs over his prostate. “I would never change my mind about you moving in here. I want you with me, always.”

“Good.” Felix tips his chin up, inviting Dimitri to come to his throat.

Instantly, Dimitri’s mouth is there. He nips at the skin, leaving small stinging bites. Licks and nuzzles to mark Felix with his scent. Felix grabs Dimitri’s hair, holds him there while Dimitri growls.

“Make me come, Dima,” he pants, overwhelmed by the scent-marking and the way Dimitri claims him like this every time, as if he wants everyone who comes within a ten-foot radius to know exactly who Felix belongs to.

Dimitri rears back, teeth bared. He looks almost feral, his eyes nearly all pupil, cheeks flushed, hair a messy halo about his face. “With pleasure.” And he braces his hands against the couch and bangs into Felix until Felix is half-screaming, a howl caught in his chest and his claws once again buried in Dimitri’s flanks. He worries, for a moment, they’re being loud enough Claude and the neighbor on the other side may be able to hear them, but the thought abruptly flees his mind as Dimitri wraps a fist around his cock, strokes once, and he starts coming.

Dimitri fucks him through it, then pulls out and drags Felix off the couch by his hair. Felix goes to his knees, breathless, eager, as Dimitri strokes his big dick with his free hand.

“Open, please,” Dimitri says, so polite, even when he’s asking to come all over Felix’s face.

Felix obeys. Moments later, the warm stripes of Dimitri’s spend hit his cheeks, his mouth, his tongue, his chin.

Felix licks his lips, and Dimitri groans. He releases Felix’s hair, brushing a clawed thumb across his cheek to rub in his scent.

“Sorry.” This time Felix can tell it’s a lie. Dimitri loves seeing Felix covered in his come. Felix might even call him smug, if Dimitri wasn’t so utterly earnest about everything he did. Instead of smugness, it comes across as pure, unfettered happiness. Maybe that’s why Felix allows Dimitri to get away with things he’d never permit from anyone else. Not only allows it, encourages it. Dimitri is just so… _good._

Felix huffs a laugh. “No, you’re not.”

Dimitri grins. “No. For this, I’m not.” He reaches down to help Felix to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Felix waits until they’re in the shower to casually say, “So, your neighbor mentioned he’s helping you with something.”

Dimitri’s soap-slick hands pause on his back; his tail thumps against the tile. It’s a tight fit in the tub given Dimitri’s size, but they manage with lots of careful shuffling. “Ah… Um. Yes. Yes, Claude’s helping with… crafts. For the bar. He owns an antique store, you know. They have some interesting items there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We should visit sometime. He’s shown me pictures. I think you’d like it.”

Distantly, Felix is impressed. He figured mentioning Claude would be a surefire way to get Dimitri to crack and reveal the surprise. Not that he’d sounded believable in the slightest with his talk of crafts… but he hadn’t broken down and started rambling about whatever it is they’re doing—or building, if Claude’s mention of the hardware store was any indication.

Well, if it’s that important to him, Felix will pretend not to suspect anything.

“Sure,” he says, “we can check it out.”

“Great!” Dimitri’s hands start moving again, and Felix sighs, leaning against him and letting himself enjoy the attention.

He feels better, at least. Dimitri can have his secret, now that Felix knows it’s not cold feet or regrets.


	5. Chapter 5

“So,” the man says on the video, “the real challenge when you’re making a cat tree is finding the right substance to cover it with.” He holds up some carpet. “If you get these from, say, a hotel that’s going out of business—”

“Yeah, no,” Claude says, to the video, clicking _next_ on his playlist. Maybe he’s basing his knowledge of cat-hybrids on Hilda, but if he suggested her cat tree be covered with _used hotel carpeting_ , she would hiss at him and claw his face off, probably. Felix might not be as particular as Hilda—few living creatures are—but still. He doesn’t seem the hotel-rug type.

Claude pulls up the next video, which is moderately more helpful. The problem isn’t really the instructions themselves, though; it’s being able to do them as a person who isn’t necessarily a craftsman. Hilda’s fancy cat tree had arrived in a box with pre-packaged sections and carefully marked instructions, and Claude still had to figure it out by looking on the linked website tutorials.

“What are you watching?” Lysithea asks, hopping up on the counter behind him. “Home improvement videos?”

Claude nods, clicking to the next video—how to build a cat tree, SEXY! But it turns out to be less a cat tree and more of a weird sex-swing-hammock hybrid. He saves it, because you never know when you might need to know how to build one of those, and continues through the playlist.

“Are you building Hilda another cat tree? Seriously?” Lysithea sniffs. It’s cute when she does that, but Claude has learned not to mention it.

“No, no. Are you kidding? If Hilda needs a new cat tree, that’s on Marianne. Girlfriend responsibilities, right? Those supercede best friend ones, it’s the rules.” Claude makes a face at the next video, where a man with a miter saw and a set of complicated diagrams is going over a list of tools for master cat-tree craftsmen. Is that a thing? “For my next door neighbor.”

“You’re building a cat tree for the lion? Can’t you just up your casserole game? This seems like a pretty severe jump, Claude.”

Claude glances at her and grins. “No, no. For his boyfriend who’s moving in. His name is Felix, he’s a cat, too.”

“Why are you—you know, don’t answer.” Lysithea hops off the counter. “Hilda’s on her way in. Doesn’t she have a cat tree?”

“You think she put that thing together?” Claude huffs. “You would be wrong. I did it, but it came with instructions. In a kit, right?” Claude shakes his head. “Dimitri, my neighbor, is making this thing from scratch. Like it’s a—wait, what?”

Lysithea is giving him a deeply suspicious look. “You know what.”

“No, I don’t,” Claude says. “Really. I don’t.”

“You wanna get with the lion, huh.” Lysithea glares at him. “Don’t _lie_. About the. Lion.”

“It was a good try,” Claude says, kindly. “And he’s gorgeous, sure. So is his boyfriend. In fact, I had the boyfriend over for cookies, and—”

“Where are my cookies?” she demands, interrupting. “Or are they those gross ones you make with fruit in them, and like. Oats?”

“They were oatmeal cookies, yes, but—”

“Ew. Nevermind. Okay, so, you gave him your gross deer cookies and what?” Lysithea demands.

“Then Dimitri, he comes home and finds Felix at my house, right, and he pounced. He _pounced_ , Lysithea. On Felix! It was so hot. He dragged him back to his house and I gotta say, I had _thoughts_.” Claude waggles his eyebrows. “Dirty ones.”

Lysithea’s nose twitches. “Spare me. So you don’t want to break them up?”

“What? No! If I did, I’d let Dimitri build this cat tree himself. Except that’s less Felix breaking up with Dimitri, and more Felix breaking his _leg_.” Claude shakes his head. “I’m not a homewrecker.”

“Just, what, a dirty voyeur?”

Claude grins. “I guess, sure.”

Before she can disapprove at him some more (and boy, can she _disapprove_ , Claude once found a website called “disapproving rabbits dot com” and they were actual rabbits but they all looked real familiar), the chime over the door sounds. Lysithea’s ears perk and one turns toward the sound; it’s adorable, but Claude just quietly notices it and doesn’t tease.

Hilda swans in, pushing her sunglasses over her head and calling out a greeting. Behind her, her girlfriend Marianne gives a shy wave.

“Marianne,” Lysithea says, immediately springing forward—hopping, really, not that Claude would say that, ever—toward her. “Claude’s being horny. Come look at this music box we just got in, it’s totally haunted. It opens by itself and plays music _backward_.”

(It does neither of those things, to Claude’s knowledge.)

Marianne, who is a hybrid so rare Claude’s never seen another one—the best way to describe it is _beast_ , but anyone who does so in Hilda’s hearing gets her claws, figuratively _and_ literally—smiles and claps her hands together, her soft voice sounding pleased. “A ghost music box, that’s exciting!”

Claude’s never been able to figure out if Lysithea has a crush on Marianne or just really likes her; Lysithea’s never shown much of an interest in anyone, other than her general fear of, and fascination with, haunted objects and ghosts. Marianne, whose hybrid manifestation gives her adorable dark-blue curved horns and the cutest little set of fangs, plus a gorgeous scaled tail that is adorned with bells that Hilda made for her, hurries after a nod and smile at Claude.

“Horny, huh,” Hilda says, draping herself across the counter like the expensive, fluffy, high-maintenance creature she is. Her tail flicks, and the pink-and-white fur is braided with sparkly gold ribbons. “Lion, again?”

“He pounced, Hilda,” Claude says, pretending to swoon. “At the cat boyfriend. In my _foyer_. It was so hot. What did you bring me?”

“Here.” She places an elaborate rolled-up silk jewelry carrier on the counter, unties the ribbon and unveils her wares. A lot of hair pins this time, and rings of delicate wire wrapped over stones, and long strings of intricate wire-wrapping and bells.

There’s a pair of earrings, too, with perfect peacock feathers dangling from white-gold hooks. Claude holds them up and raises his eyebrows.

“Lorenz stopped by. My neighbor’s dog chased him. He dropped those so they’re fair game,” Hilda says, a little defensively.

Lorenz Gloucester, Claude’s ex-boyfriend and good friend, is a peacock hybrid who has a tendency to shed when he’s stressed. Or excited. Lorenz is the most high-strung person Claude knows, which is saying something. He sheds a lot of feathers.

Claude picks one up and hangs it off his antler, then moves it to the earring he always wears. “Eh?”

“Sure, but it’ll give him ideas, do you really wanna get back together with him?”

Claude shakes his head. “Nah. He and I are way better friends and we both know it. And these are too pretty for me to keep. Great work as usual.”

“I know.” Hilda tosses her head. “Mari made the hairpins, aren’t they gorgeous?”

“They are,” Claude agrees, carefully taking them out.

“So, the lion, huh? You gonna try and, what, get in on that action?”

Claude makes a huffy sound. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m just enjoying being neighborly, not trying to break them up.”

“Who said anything about breaking them up? Hello, Claude. It’s called polyamory, people do it all the time.” Her tail swishes, nearly knocking into a display of antique bells that Lysithea swears summons demons - but only to little kids who like to play with them just to see her ears twitch.

“Not sure they’re into that, Hilda, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

There’s a soft sound from back in the store—Lysithea’s music box, the music filtering out through the quiet store.  
Hilda makes a face. “That’s not haunted, it’s just out of tune.”

“Eh.” Claude waves a hand. “Let her have her fun.”

***

Felix has to admit, he’s curious about Claude’s store. He never would’ve looked at Claude and thought _“this man deals in antiques,”_ but then, most people who saw _him_ outside of Swordpoint didn’t suspect Felix was a three-time fencing world champion with a case of trophies in his studio and a list of accolades under his belt. It’s easy to forget sometimes that people contain multitudes and judging on appearances alone often leads to misunderstandings.

But if Felix _was_ judging Claude based on only appearances, well… he would’ve guessed Claude did something infinitely sexier than run an antique shop. Felix has never met another person who exudes the sort of big dick energy Claude does. Dimitri certainly has the equipment, but he’s so painfully earnest—Felix has seen him apologize to a _chair_ after accidentally bumping into it—that he can’t be said to possess any sort of swagger. None of that aura of cockiness or that secretive little smirk or the seductive bedroom eyes that, in addition to the rest of Claude’s physical attributes, make people want to drop trou and present for him.

Yeah, Claude has BDE in droves, and Felix couldn’t help but notice. Now, he’s not entirely sure how he feels about a guy like that helping Dimitri with whatever DIY surprise Dimitri is working on. Dimitri isn’t only hot, he’s _nice_. People want him even without any swagger to speak of. And if Dimitri and Claude are doing some type of construction project, there’ll be sweating and Dimitri’s shirt will cling damply to his brawny chest and he’ll be bending over, those luscious thighs straining the seams of his jeans. Claude certainly didn’t seem to mind watching Dimitri pounce Felix, so he’ll probably happily admire the view while Dimitri is hammering or sawing or whatever it is they’re doing.

Felix can picture it now. The sun beating down overhead, Dimitri lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe his sweaty brow, oblivious as always, and Claude ogling his incredible abs. Maybe Claude will pick up the hose and suggest they use it to cool off, and then they’ll be frolicking in the backyard, wet and shirtless, laughing, water droplets gleaming on bare skin, and then somehow one of them will trip and fall on the other and they’ll end up in the hydrangea bushes, making out and—

The buzz of Felix’s phone yanks him out of his little fantasy, and right in the nick of time, too, because his claws are unsheathed just picturing this ridiculous scenario, and the thing is, Felix isn’t entirely sure if he hates the idea or _likes_ it.

He taps the screen and reads the message from Sylvain.

“Hey, Sylvain just texted me,” Felix says to Dimitri, who’s behind the wheel of his old pickup truck, carefully navigating the streets in a much more reserved manner than Felix drives. They’re on their way to Failnaught, Claude’s store, after spending the morning in bed and visiting their favorite café for lunch. “He’s asking if I have a date for when I’ll be moving out. I think he’s starting to interview potential roommates.”

“Ah,” says Dimitri… and that’s it.

Felix turns in his seat to look at him, but Dimitri is concentrating on the road so hard he’s squinting and his forehead is creased. His ears, however, are twitching in the way they do when he’s anxious.

“Dimitri?” Felix prompts. “What’s the problem? I thought we talked about this. No second thoughts, right?”

“There’s no problem,” Dimitri says immediately. “No second thoughts.” He clears his throat. “But, well, you see, there are some… repairs I’d like to make.”

“Repairs.” Felix’s voice is flat as paper. “What repairs?”

“Oh, you know, this and that.” Dimitri slows down to avoid a pothole—and he steers around it so slowly the car behind them lays on their horn. “Fixtures. The attic. There are boards, you know. That need, ah… replacing.”

Felix draws in a deep breath and counts to three, trying to maintain his temper in the face of such blatant lying. Dimitri is _so terrible_ at it, and they both know it. Why he’s even trying, Felix can’t imagine. He’s tempted, for a second, to let on that he knows about the surprise. Not what it is, exactly, but that there is one. But before he can speak, his brain helpfully provides him with the memory of Dimitri’s crestfallen look last time Dimitri had spoiled something he himself had been planning for months.

It’s a sign of how gone Felix is on his big dork of a boyfriend that the reminder of that expression is enough to make him bite his tongue.

Felix sighs. “Fine,” he says after a few beats of silence. “Well, let me know as soon as you have an idea of when you’ll be done, okay? Sylvain can’t afford this place on his own. You know that. He needs to find a new roommate before I move out.”

“Of course, Felix.” Dimitri beams at him. “And I’d be happy to help him cover a few months, if needed. I know I’m stealing you away from him.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessarily,” Felix says, at once, his tail thumping against the passenger door. “If it is, I’ll cover it myself.” He takes care of his own, and since he and Sylvain have known each other nearly as long as he’s known Dimitri, Sylvain definitely falls into that category.

“Okay,” Dimitri says softly. His ears flatten, and Felix can tell he wants to argue, but by now, Dimitri is long familiar with how futile the effort would be. He knows Felix hates taking handouts, even from his boyfriend. Felix can’t stand to be given things he doesn’t feel he’s earned. A gift is one thing. Covering his share of the rent on the apartment where Dimitri has never done anything more than occasionally stay the night is quite another.

Felix texts a reply to Sylvain, and a few minutes later, Dimitri eases the truck to a stop next to a gablefront house with sunny yellow siding and white trim. A subtle wooden shingle carved with the name _Failnaught_ hangs from the porch and a smaller, discreet sign above the doorbell lists business hours, the only indicators the building is not a private residence. It’s on theme with the rest of the block, which is made up of similar houses, converted for commercial use and preserved to maintain the neighborhood’s quaint historical aesthetic.

Felix follows Dimitri inside, his tail swishing slowly while he peers curiously around. They’re greeted by a pale, white-haired rabbit hybrid who’s dressed in a frilly black dress with a fitted bodice and has a tiny black top hat with a lace veil perched between her long ears. She looks like she just stepped out of a Victorian memento mori, and her uncanny pink eyes widen when they land on Dimitri.

“The lion,” she whispers. Then, louder, “Hey, Claude, you’ve got visitors!” She stares, unblinking, at Felix as he wanders closer to an old, lacquered music box. “That’s haunted,” she tells him. “I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.”

Felix pauses with his fingers about an inch from the box’s gleaming surface and blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t listen to Lysithea here, she’s just trying to spook you,” comes Claude’s voice as he rounds a tall armoire. He grins at them, emerald eyes sparkling. He’s wearing a gold hoodie over a tight black shirt and fitted moss-green jeans. His dark hair is wrapped in a bright, patterned scarf and tiny LED star lights hang from his velvety brown antlers.

Felix resists the urge to check out his thighs in those skintight jeans. They may not be as impressive as Dimitri’s, but they _are_ impressive, and Felix has a thing for beautiful thighs and having them wrapped around his head. He drags his gaze away before he loses his resolve, taking in the rest of the shop, which is crowded but also seems to be arranged in a form of organized chaos.

“You came!” Claude declares. “Welcome to my humble shop.” Out of the corner of his eye, Felix sees Claude wave a hand. “Feel free to wander and touch anything you like, _none_ of which is haunted or cursed.”

“Well,” Dimitri says slowly, “we will bear that in mind, thank you. I was telling Felix about the pictures you showed me. I thought it would be nice to see the store in person.”

“You’re welcome anytime.” Claude sounds positively cheerful. “Hello, Felix.”

Felix returns the greeting, glancing at him quickly, but then his attention is caught by something on the display case behind Claude—a satin-lined tray of shiny hair pins. Felix drifts nearer, Dimitri following close behind.

“These are beautiful,” Felix says, reaching out to touch one. This time Lysithea doesn’t issue any dire warnings. Felix picks up a hair pin that appears to be made out of turquoise and copper. It’s made to look old, Felix might even say crude—or maybe primitive is a better word—as if it was crafted by ancient hands using fire and stone. He never uses anything fancier than simple black elastics in his hair, but for a moment, he’s tempted. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

“Isn’t that amazing?” Claude asks from beside him. “My friend Hilda and her partner Marianne make the jewelry. Guaranteed it’ll be gone by the end of the weekend.”

“It’s stunning.” Felix sets it back down regretfully. “They’re very talented,” he adds, peering at some of the necklaces on offer. One looks designed to match the hairpin. He touches that one, too, capturing the stone between his fingers.

Dimitri sets a hand on the small of his back. “Would you like them? The pin would look lovely against your hair.”

Felix gently releases the stone. “You know I never wear jewelry. They should go to someone who’d use them.”

He turns away, wanders over to a harpsichord. The items in the shop are as eclectic as he anticipated, but not in a hodgepodge flea market kind of way. Everything is beautiful, or at the very least, interesting. Felix doesn’t know Claude well—or at all, really—but looking around the store, he’s intrigued. He suspects that nothing here was just randomly selected, that every item tells a story, provides a clue to who Claude is as a person, what he finds valuable or aesthetically pleasing. Felix, in spite of himself, is fascinated.

Then, in the gilded mirror mounted on the wall above the harpsichord, he catches sight of Dimitri lingering by the display case where Felix had just been. Dimitri’s attention is focused on the jewelry, but Claude’s gaze is focused on _Dimitri_ , and his expression is one Felix suspects _he_ wears in the moments when Dimitri smiles or laughs or does something particularly thoughtful or sweet, and Felix feels like he just took another of Cupid’s arrows to the chest. Dimitri, Felix knows, is very easy to fall in love with.

Felix narrows his eyes. Deer boy over there had better not be getting any ideas… even if that little daydream Felix had about them earlier _was_ kind of hot. They look good together, Felix has to admit, though the admission makes his stomach quake.

Tail lashing, Felix tugs his phone out of his pocket, brings up Dedue’s contact info, and types out a message.

_Don’t tell Dimitri I asked for this, but I know he’s working on a project for me, and I also know it’s not going well. Pls help him. This is me begging here. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but I’d really like to move into the house sometime this year._

“Felix.”

Felix shoves the phone back into his pocket and turns to see Dimitri approaching.

“I bought them for you.” Dimitri holds out the small silver box in his hand.

Felix swallows. “Wait—but I told you—”

“I don’t care if you only ever wear them once, for me,” Dimitri says, “or if you never wear them at all and just add them to your hoard to look at them. I want you to have them.”

Well… what can Felix say to that? He accepts the box and licks his lips. “I… Thank you.”

Dimitri leans down to kiss him on the forehead. “My pleasure.” Behind him, Claude is grinning and giving Felix a thumbs up.

Oh, all right, he’s cute. And maybe he isn’t a threat. Or maybe he _is_ , if the flutter in Felix’s chest in response to that grin is anything to go by.

Either way, Felix wants to move into that house, pronto. Not just to keep an eye on the situation, but because of things like the jewelry box in his hand. Dimitri is a big-hearted, thoughtful, ridiculous man, and Felix loves him so much it hurts sometimes.

He grabs Dimitri’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Come on, let’s find something for you, too, then. It’s only fair.”

***

“Are you certain this is correct?” Dimitri asks. He’s wedged into the base of the half-finished cat tree, his broad shoulders shoved in an alcove meant for a computer or TV monitor, trying to screw on the hinges for a trap door. “It feels complicated. I’m not sure Felix likes complicated.”

“But you said he plays that game sometimes, the one with the souls? Armor souls?” Claude stands over Dimitri, feet braced on either side of Dimitri’s head, and tests the give of one of the lounging beds. It creaks ominously. “Knife souls?”

“Close enough,” Dimitri says. “And yes, it _would_ be nice to set up an entertainment center, but…” He sighs. He may as well build Felix another house, at this point. Except he shouldn’t, because it would be condemned.

“Okay, let me see if I can tackle this from the other side.” Claude leans forward, and Dimitri tries to find somewhere to look that _isn’t_ Claude’s thighs, his calves, the way his jeans slide down just an inch over his hips as he bends over. Or the tufted tail twitching slightly as Claude fiddles with the trap door, or the faint grunting sounds he can hear through the planks.

It’s disgraceful, really. Here Claude is, doing his neighborly best to help Dimitri out of a bind, and all Dimitri can do is ogle him from below. He closes his eyes instead.

Which is a bad choice, because Claude chooses that moment to lift up the trap door, go “Oh my gods, how did you manage to drill in this joint _upside down?_ ” and the entire construction wobbles, groans, and goes tipping over onto both of them with a colossal crash.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Dimitri says, wrapping gauze around Claude’s wrist by the edge of the pool. His tail is lashing furiously, spraying water on his back, and his head throbs despite the bottle of painkillers they’ve left conveniently on the patio table. “I. I think I may be terrible at this.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Claude says. He’s smiling wryly, as though having half of a cat tree collapse on his back is amusing, and he huffs out a soft laugh when Dimitri tips his head to the side to check for bruises. “I’ve been through worse. I think. Well, I fell off a horse once.”

“If I could somehow wield a hammer without tearing a hole in creation, this wouldn’t have happened,” Dimitri says. “Tilt your head down, I’ll see if any splinters—Oh.” He draws back quickly. “I’m. I apologize. I didn’t mean to manhandle you.”

“Not that I don’t mind a little manhandling,” Claude says, and Dimitri considers this, just for a moment. Claude’s not as lean as Felix, but Dimitri could probably have him up against the wall if he wanted to, at least long enough to—

Not that he _wants_ to. Which he doesn’t. Of course.

Dimitri tries to find somewhere to look that doesn’t make him seem like a salacious lion luring in mates for his pride, fails, and settles for looking at a spot somewhere over Claude’s shoulder.

“Gnh,” he says, eloquently.

“And now we have to start over,” Claude says, seemingly unaffected by Dimitri’s struggle not to go fully feral at eleven in the gods-blest morning.

“I doubt.” Dimitri clears his throat. “Doubt Felix will approve of _that_ as a suitable house-warming gift.”

“Hey,” Claude says, with a smile that makes Dimitri stare fixedly at the pathetic tree house behind him. “We still have time. Maybe I can find one of those—”

“I see,” says a voice at Dimitri’s back.

Several things happen at once. Dedue appears from around the corner, wearing his gardening overalls, a thin, long-sleeved plaid shirt, and a disapproving stare. Dimitri, like all feline hybrids, takes the appearance of a new person at his back as a threat, clicking on a primal switch in his brain that makes all big cat hybrids leap into the air at the slightest provocation. This would be fine, of course, except Dimitri is currently sitting on the edge of the pool.

So when Dimitri jumps—literally—he goes tipping over into the water with a yowl that quickly devolves into excitable burbling. When Dimitri comes up gasping, he sees Claude, his brain goes into _must protect, Claude in danger of snake/other lion/cucumber/Dedue in overalls,_ and he drags him into the water by his jeans.

“Well,” Dedue says, as Dimitri comes up for air a second time. Claude is clinging to the side of the pool, practically howling with laughter, his dark hair curling over his eyes while his wet shirt clings to his arms and chest. Dimitri swims over, but Claude just manages to get one look at him before he sobs with laughter again.

“I’m terribly so—” Dimitri tries to say.

“Holy shit, the look on your _face,_ ” Claude wheezes. His voice is nearly gone, lost in helpless, breathless laughter, and Dimitri sighs before he looks up at Dedue.

“I was in the area,” Dedue says. He’s holding a bag of tools in one hand, and there are thick gardening gloves in his back pocket. “Thought you needed help.”

“Yes,” Claude squeaks, pushing away tears. “Oh, fuck, oh my god.”

Dimitri considers telling Dedue that he’s doing quite fine, actually, but it’s useless when he’s just thrown his only assistance into the pool and wrecked the cat tree _twice._ “It’s a cat tree,” he says, dragging himself out of the pool. Dedue steps back before Dimitri can shake himself off. “And a tree house. For Felix. I’m afraid I may have, ah, run into a few roadblocks.”

Dedue looks from Claude sobbing in the pool to the pile of wood, nails, and strips of plush cushions by the patio. “Right.” He sets down his toolbag. “You. What’s your name.”

“Claude.” Claude rolls onto the side of the pool, just a grinning, antlered puddle of a man. “Nice to meet you.”

“Mm. You helped with this?” Dedue jerks his head towards the pile of wood, and glances at the tree house, which is just a few planks held together by desperation. Claude shrugs. “Alright. Your job is to keep out of it. Dimitri. Tell me what you want.”

“I have photos,” Claude says. “On the phone, by the table.”

“At least let me help,” Dimitri says, and Dedue gives him a long, slow look.

“Wouldn’t say no to something to drink,” he says, at last.

Dimitri would _embrace_ Dedue if it didn’t make Dedue absolutely, painfully uncomfortable, so he settles for a slightly damp pat on the shoulder instead. “You’re a godsend, Dedue.”

“Something like that,” Dedue says. He almost smiles. “Go dry off your deer.”

“He isn’t _my_ deer,” Dimitri says, but Dedue is already stalking off to the wood pile, frowning at it the way he does at a stubborn weed. Dimitri turns to Claude instead. “I truly am sorry, Claude. Allow me to offer you something to change into, at least.”

“My house is right over—Oh, sure,” Claude says, as Dimitri grabs him by the wrist. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

By the time they’ve changed—Claude into one of Dimitri’s sweaters, which hangs off him almost the same way it does on Felix—Dedue has already hammered together a frame for the cat tree. It’s straight. It’s level. None of the hinges are backwards. There’s even a trap door.

“I’m gonna get that man a new kitchen,” Dimitri says, and Claude looks at him in alarm.

“You aren’t… planning to assemble it, are you?” he asks.

Dimitri pauses in the middle of grabbing an armful of beer bottles. He examines Claude’s disheveled, damp hair and the mark of a growing bruise from the second great cat tree collapse, sighs, and shrugs his shoulders.

“No,” he says, as Dedue expertly fastens a cushion onto the nicest hybrid cat bed anyone has ever made in a hurry. “No, I think I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with [adorable art](https://twitter.com/MxTicketyBoo/status/1262863696814133255) by the lovely Natendo_art. Look at how cute our boys are! Ahhh. <3


	6. Chapter 6

When Dimitri calls Felix to invite him over, Felix knows it’s finally time for the surprise reveal. He’s had Dimitri’s schedule memorized for ages; when he wants to see his boyfriend, he usually just shows up. Same goes for Dimitri, who sometimes pops into Swordpoint unannounced just to do something sweet, like bring Felix a beef jerky bouquet from the tiny shop near The Blue Lion that specializes in spicy, experimental flavors, as well as all of the usual fare. 

Dimitri issuing an actual invitation for a very specific time and date is a dead give away he’s up to something, but Felix plays it cool and keeps his suspicions underwraps. Once this part is done, he can finally move in, Sylvain can make arrangements with his new roommate, and everyone will be happy. He’s beyond ready for this weird little limbo to be over.

Felix had gotten a cryptic text from Dedue a few days ago that read only, _“You were right to text me.”_ He wanted to press for details, but Dedue wasn’t exactly a talker under the best of circumstances, and that was probably the longest text message he’d ever sent Felix. It must’ve been pretty dire, though, for Dedue to say anything at all. Maybe someday Felix will ask for the story.

For now, he gets dressed, and if he spends some extra time primping so he looks especially good when he offers Dimitri his _profuse_ thanks in the form of a blowjob and then a go at his ass, no one’s around to witness it but him and the bathroom mirror.

He walks out of his apartment in a sleeveless turtleneck that positively _clings_ to his torso and the tightest jeans he can still comfortably breathe in. Dimitri’s jaw will be on the floor and seams will probably get ripped, the thought of which makes Felix flex his claws in anticipation.

It still amazes him sometimes how horny he is for Dimitri even after all these years. He enjoys the snuggles and cuddling up together to watch a movie or eating at their favorite restaurants—really, he loves anything they do together—but fuck… Dimitri’s dick, though. Felix wants him constantly. He’d resent it, maybe, this need for Dimitri, if he didn’t know Dimitri needed and wanted him just as desperately.

So maybe it’s silly of him to worry about Claude, but worry about Claude he does. The problem is, ever since the trip to Failnaught, it’s become less _worrying_ and more just thinking about Claude in general. About his muscular thighs and his clever green eyes and whether or not his wavy hair would be coarse or soft under Felix’s fingers. He wonders if Claude’s antlers are sensitive or if he likes them to be touched, and he spends an awful lot of time imagining what Claude looks like naked.

Felix, of course, hasn’t mentioned any of this to Dimitri. He isn’t sure if he will, either. Dimitri is territorial and possessive in the extreme, and just as obsessed with Felix as Felix is with him. Knowing that, it’s probably absurd for Felix to worry about him straying, but well… Felix can be possessive, too, and Claude is tempting. Maybe he needs to worry about _himself_ , honestly.

He drums his fingers on the wheel of his Stingray on the drive to Dimitri’s place. _His_ place, too, as soon as he can pack up and move. He and Dimitri have already christened all of the rooms in the months since Dimitri bought the house, but they can do it all over again once Felix is settled in and it’s _theirs_. He wants to leave his scent in every corner, saturate every surface, until it’s completely blended with Dimitri’s smell. Their home, their den, their pride of two. Felix can’t wait. He’d almost say he was giddy, if he’d ever actually use that word to describe himself. Which he wouldn’t. Felix Fraldarius doesn’t get giddy.

He parks the Stingray behind Dimitri’s old truck and does a quick check in the rearview mirror to make sure he’s still presentable. His hair hadn’t gotten _too_ mussed from the open windows. Besides, his ponytail is about to get wrecked, if he has anything to say about it.

Before Felix can finish getting out of the car, Dimitri is bounding down the porch steps, grinning broadly.

“Felix!” he says when Felix starts up the walkway. “Hello.”

“Were you watching for me?” Felix asks with a smirk when he gets close enough for Dimitri to grab him and drag him in. Dimitri kisses him, then noses at his neck and licks up one side to Felix’s ear, where he nips playfully. Behind him, his tail is high and swaying slowly.

“I was.” Dimitri nips at him again and then hugs him hard, lifting him off his feet and squeezing until Felix whacks at his shoulder.

“Put me _down_.”

“No,” Dimitri growls against his throat. “How about I carry you? I have a little surprise to show you.”

Felix stops trying to shimmy out of his grasp. “Oh?” He drapes his arms around Dimitri’s neck and his legs around his waist as Dimitri’s big hands cup his ass. “I like surprises.”

“I really do hope you’ll like this one,” Dimitri says, and instead of going to the front door, he starts around the side of the house toward the backyard. “It took… some effort. And some help. Close your eyes, please.”

Felix arches his brows, but Dimitri’s pleading look has him grudgingly agreeing in the next second. “Oh, all right.”

He shuts his eyes, hears the gate swing open. He should feel ridiculous, maybe, being carried around like this, but while he might put up a token protest from time to time, he loves it. Loves Dimitri’s strength and how easily he could do whatever he wanted to Felix at any time. It’s both assuring and arousing. Dimitri is a good mate, a powerful protector. Felix is animal enough to recognize the value in those things and relish having such an ideal specimen as his partner and companion.

“Here we are,” Dimitri says, and he lets Felix slide down his body so slowly Felix is thoroughly distracted by the time he’s standing on his own two feet.

He touches Dimitri’s chest through his thin tank top, making a soft sound of appreciation. “Hmm?”

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” Dimitri says, amusement in his voice, “I am not, in fact, the surprise. Turn around.”

Felix turns and… his mouth falls open.

A portion of the backyard has been transformed. There’s a massive cat tree with several raised platforms as well as a cushioned nook and what looks like a built in entertainment center with doors that can be shut to protect the small flatscreen TV and other electronics from the elements. To the left of that, in the massive oak that dominates one corner of the yard, he can see a deck with railings, constructed using the support of the trunk and the lower, thicker branches.

Felix is on the ladder leading up to the deck before he even registers moving. When he gets to the top, he glances around in wonder. One part of the wooden slots that make up the floor are in full sunlight, the other section is partially shaded by the branches overhead. That’ll change as the sun moves, he knows, but there will likely always be a sunny spot or a shaded one to accommodate whatever mood he’s in. It’s… perfect.

He looks at Dimitri over his shoulder. Dimitri is standing at the base of the ladder, staring up at him and nervously wringing his hands.

“You made this for me?” Felix asks.

“Well…” Dimitri smiles wryly. “I had a lot of help, in the end. Both Claude and Dedue assisted me. Or rather…” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, his face going pink. “It may be more accurate to say we assisted Dedue. With moral support and beer.” He drops his hand and grins at Felix. “But yes, it’s for you.”

Felix can’t help it; he pounces—right from the top of the tree house.

Dimitri’s eyes widen almost comically, but he’s quick, and more importantly, he’s strong. He easily catches Felix before Felix hits the ground, though the impact sends him staggering back a few steps.

“Oof, Felix, be careful, you—”

Felix cuts him off with a kiss, and Dimitri’s smart enough to stop trying to talk as soon as Felix’s tongue is in his mouth.

Felix moans, clutching at Dimitri’s back, deepening the kiss. He’s about to demand Dimitri fuck him right here and now when there’s a cough and laugh behind them.

“Ah… well, I was told to wait a few minutes after you got here to show up, but if you want me to come back later, no worries.”

Felix tears his mouth away from Dimitri’s and turns his head to see Claude standing several feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“I take it you like your surprise?” Claude asks, his crooked grin making a cute little dimple appear in his right cheek.

Felix licks his lips as Dimitri sets him down. “I do.” He looks up at Dimitri. “Thank you.” Over at Claude. “Thank both of you.”

“Eh, I didn’t do much.” Claude steps closer and peers up at the tree house. “You have Dedue to thank for the fact that this isn’t still a pile of wood and nails.” He laughs again. “We were failing spectacularly when he showed up. That guy’s got some skills.”

“He does, indeed.” Dimitri sets his hands on Felix’s waist. “I ordered food from that place you like. The one with the spicy short ribs? I thought we might eat with Claude to celebrate. I asked Dedue if he wanted to be here today, but he declined. He has a date with Ashe.”

“I’ll have to thank him later,” Felix says. “This is amazing.” He tips his head back to meet Dimitri’s gaze. “You didn’t have to, you know. I don’t need this to be happy here… but I am grateful.”

“You deserve it.” Dimitri presses a kiss to his forehead. “Come on, let’s eat, shall we? I’ve been keeping the ribs warm in the oven, but I fear they’ll dry out if we leave them much longer.”

Claude claps his hands. “Sounds great. I’m starving.”

Felix is half-hard in his jeans from the kiss, but his stomach grumbles at the mention of food. 

Dimitri chuckles. “Okay, kitten, let’s get you your meat.”

“Looks like he was about to get his meat when I strolled over,” Claude says, grinning. “Should I apologize for interrupting?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “You should apologize for that joke.”

Claude laughs and follows them up onto the deck at the back of the house. After a trip into the kitchen, they settle around the patio table with their food and cold bottles of Dedue’s latest experimental brews. Both Felix and Dimitri had piled their plates high with ribs, while Claude’s was mostly side dishes and corn muffins. He does have a couple of his ribs on his plate, too, which Felix tips his chin at.

“I was wondering if you ate meat.”

Claude shrugs a shoulder. “I’m mostly into vegetables. Can’t always get away from my instincts, ya know, but well, I like the taste sometimes.”

Felix is tempted, just for a moment, to ask what other types of meat Claude likes the taste of. If he was Sylvain, he would have, but he’s not used to making sexual innuendos to anyone but Dimitri, and even then, it’s not really their thing. Dimitri isn’t the double entendre type; he’s too earnest. And Felix would rather just be direct. Most of the time, anyway.

They finish their meals and eventually clear the table and move to the more comfortable seating. Dimitri lowers his big frame into one of the wide armchairs, his legs stretched out in front of him. Felix ends up on the wicker sectional next to Claude.

He isn’t sure how many beers he’s had by the time the sun starts setting a few hours later. Felix and Dimitri are usually the guinea pigs for Dedue’s seasonal microbrews, and right now he’s experimenting with a mango lager and a gose laced with sea salt, citrus, and coriander. Felix likes that one—it’s tangy and refreshing—but the mango is too sweet for his taste buds.

As the sky starts to darken, he’s pleasantly buzzed from his latest bottle. Claude and Dimitri appear to be in the same condition, and somehow, when Felix sleepily curls up on his side and rests his head on Claude’s thigh, no one seems to find it odd.

Claude keeps right on talking like it’s totally normal—he and Dimitri have been discussing something about the neighborhood homeowners association, Felix stopped paying attention a while ago—but Claude does put his hand on Felix’s head and starts idly petting one of his ears.

Felix isn’t even sure Claude notices he’s doing it, is the thing. He’s gesturing with his free hand, head turned toward Dimitri, ranting about people who don’t appreciate the aesthetic of his overgrown lawn. He’s distracted, not even looking at Felix. But while he’s distracted with Dimitri, Felix is distracted by _him_.

Claude smells so good, like amber and leather with notes of rich spices underneath. Felix buries his nose against Claude’s jeans and draws in a deep breath, pulling in his natural scent beneath the fading cologne. The smell of him goes right to Felix’s head like he downed another beer and a few shots to top it off. Unthinkingly, he rubs against Claude’s palm in a silent demand for more attention. Claude pauses for a moment, then his fingertips dig in hard at the base of Felix’s ear, a firm massage but not too rough.

It feels amazing. Felix shivers, letting his eyelids drift shut.

He doesn’t realize he’s started purring until both Claude and Dimitri go quiet.

Without the sound of their conversation, Felix’s purr is a loud, vibrating, unmistakable rumble. There’s no way for him to hide the response, and they all sort of freeze after he jerks his head up in shock.

In the next second, Dimitri growls, low, dangerous, and there’s a distinct _crack_ as his claws sink into the wicker arms of his chair.

Felix only ever purrs for _Dimitri_. It’s always been that way.

Except, apparently, for today.

Mortified, Felix springs into action. He takes off without any real destination in mind, and in moments, he’s tucked into the farthest corner of the tree house, up against the railing with his head buried in his hands. His ears are flat against his skull, and he can feel the fur on his tail standing on end as it lashes behind him.

“Oh _shit_.” What had he done? He doesn’t purr for anyone but Dimitri. They both know that. They both like it. Dimitri must be feeling betrayed right now. Maybe he’ll even try to hurt Claude. He might not be able to help himself, if his possessive instincts got set off by Claude touching Felix, and not only that, but Felix _responding_ to that touch.

Felix really should go back down and check on them both, but he can’t bring himself to move. He’s too humiliated. 

_Fuck._

***

Felix doesn’t go around purring for people.

Most of the time. If Dimitri were honest with himself and not currently trapped with his unsheathed claws digging into the wicker, he would admit that sure, Felix used to purr _all the time_ when they were kids. All Dimitri had to do was look at him, sometimes, and Felix would start rumbling like a little motor. But things change when you have an older brother who’s so stoic and collected and too _mature_ for it, and suddenly Felix only started purring for Dimitri, in private. It’s personal, now. It’s _theirs_. Felix is _his_ , and now Claude thinks he can, assumes he can walk in here with his wicked smile and disastrous yard and _pet_ him—

“Okay,” Claude says, somewhere in the far distance. Dimitri blinks slowly. Claude’s crammed up on the arm of the couch, hands up in supplication, looking like he isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or run for the door. “Okay, that definitely crossed a line somewhere.”

Dimitri’s voice comes out as a low growl. “You think so.”

“I had no idea that was a thing, I promise,” Claude says. “My old roommate’s a cat hybrid, remember? I used to scratch her ears all the time. On command, even. She trains anyone who’s in her vicinity for more than an hour to give ear skritches without thinking. It’s kind of her thing. So it’s become a habit. See cat hybrid, scratch ears.”

“He doesn’t just purr for anyone,” Dimitri says, but it sounds foolish even before the words leave his tongue. 

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Claude says, in a low, soothing voice. Even though Felix _was_ clearly just purring for Claude. “Maybe I just have, like, a really good scratching technique.”

Dimitri’s shoulders slump a little. “Perhaps.”

He looks at Claude’s upraised hands. So does Claude. For a moment, all he can hear is his own breathing, the last dregs of a growl slowly winding down.

“Do you want to… try it out?” Claude asks. He holds out his hands, and Dimitri wordlessly leans in his chair, his long blond hair falling over his stubby ears.

Claude’s touch is tentative at first, threading through his hair gently, teasing the strands. Then he starts to scratch the soft fur at the base of his ears, rhythmic and firm, and Dimitri can understand the need to purr at this sort of thing. It’s… nice. Felix pets him when he’s feeling particularly affectionate, but Dimitri has to admit, Claude’s Hilda clearly taught him well.

They sit like this for a minute, with Claude’s hands in Dimitri’s hair and Dimitri wondering yet again what it must feel like to purr, before Dimitri remembers that Felix just fled for the yard and tries to disentangle himself from the chair.

Wicker cracks. Claude winces.

“Look, I can find you a chair that isn’t… that,” he says, as Dimitri flicks bits of wood off his claws.

“You should see some of my other furniture,” Dimitri says. “Claw marks everywhere. I threatened to put down plastic covers, once.”

Claude almost looks scandalized. “You wouldn’t.”

Dimitri shakes out his shaggy hair. He can still feel Claude’s hands on his ears. “Hey, the pattern was nice. I’d better find Felix. I just hope he’s in the cat tree and not trying to start up the car.”

“Or he’s in the tree house,” Claude says, unfolding from the couch. “Which is technically still a cat tree, all things considered.”

They step out into the dark, warm evening, lit only by the faint pool lights and the glow of the house. Fireflies drift slowly in the patch of high grass at the end of the yard, which Dimitri keeps cut a few inches above regulation so he can roll in it with a book on sunny days, and the tree house casts a darker shadow over the lawn. Dimitri can just spot the movement of a tail lashing furiously over the edge of the tree house, and he nods to Claude, who squints at it.

“Do you ever just want to… grab it,” he whispers.

Dimitri chokes down a laugh. “Only all the time.”

“Touch it and die,” calls a low, miserable voice from the darkness above. 

“Felix.” Dimitri places a foot on the first rung of the ladder leading up the tree. “It’s okay. We talked it out.”

There’s a long, dreadful silence. “Go _away_.”

Dimitri sighs and starts climbing. One more step. “If Claude petting you made you feel a certain way, I understand and it’s perfectly natural. Instinctive behaviors—“

Felix’s tail lashes the air. “Are you _actually_ trying to give me the _talk_? You? The one who thought _babies_ came from—“

“That’s enough,” Dimitri warns, glancing down at Claude. 

“— _thunderstorms_? You, the guy who started growing a mane at eleven and thought you were turning into a _wolf_ man?”

“I get the point,” Dimitri says, through his teeth.

“Oh my gods,” Claude whispers.

“I _know_ what instincts are,” Felix says, and the misery at the edge of his voice is almost palpable. “And I know what’s crossing a line.”

“Felix, it’s okay.” Dimitri clambers up another step. “You love me. I know that’s not in question.”

Felix doesn’t say anything at that, but they’ve known each other long enough that even their silences have meaning. Dimitri glances down at Claude again. Yes, Felix loves Dimitri. But now there’s another factor, a new pair of hands that can pull a rumble from Felix’s chest, and they’ll have to figure _that_ out sooner rather than later.

“I’m coming up, Felix,” Dimitri says.

“Try it,” snarls Felix. The tail disappears from over the edge of the tree house, and Dimitri can just spot a foot poised at the top of the ladder, ready to kick any enterprising lions to the earth.

Dimitri smiles grimly.

So.

A challenge.

Dimitri is _good_ at challenges.

“Alright,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”

“Wait,” Felix says. 

Dimitri heaves himself up another rung. He waits, bracing himself, calibrating his trajectory.

“Holy shit,” Claude breathes, behind him. “It’s the _wiggle_.”

“The what,” Felix says.

Dimitri doesn’t give him time to figure it out. He leaps, a coiled spring unwinding, and ignores Felix’s ungainly squawk of horror as he clears the edge of the ladder and grabs Felix in a full-body pounce.

“What the _fuck_ —” Felix’s voice is muffled by Dimitri’s arms as they’re rolled to one side of the tree house. Dimitri nuzzles him aggressively, and Felix sputters out a laugh, tangled up in his embrace. 

“You love me,” Dimitri whispers. He can practically feel the heat rushing to Felix’s face. “You’re mine and you love me, Felix.”

“I. Yes. I just. Will you.” Felix’s lips part under Dimitri’s, and whatever he means to say next fades into a faint hum of pleasure as Dimitri kisses him, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other raking down his side. Felix shivers, and Dimitri smiles, pressing him down on the boards of the tree house.

Then, just as Felix arches against him and bites the juncture of his neck, there’s a sound of cloth scraping over wood, and they both turn to find Claude holding himself up on the top of the ladder by both arms, ears back, his face pleasantly flushed in the glow of the house lights.

***

So, this is probably the part where Claude should leave...right? 

The thing is. The thing _is_. His neighbors are both so hot. And the way Dimitri just pounced on Felix raised all of Claude’s instincts, the ones that say _stay right where you are_ and the problem is that, yeah, he’s into it because who would want to leave a show this good? 

Claude is very good at being still. His instincts make it easy, and the sight of in front of him—Dimitri kissing Felix, on top of him like a predator with its prey. Its sexy, dark-haired, lithe-bodied prey. He’s kissing him, pressing him into the wood floor of the tree house and honestly, Claude hates the _deer in headlights_ comparison but in this case, yeah, it’s kind of true. 

They’re insanely hot together, really. And Claude can’t deny that he’s turned on, watching as they move together, gradually seeming to forget that he’s here at all. 

This is not a moment he needs to be a part of. They’re kissing and Dimitri is making a growling noise, low enough that it thrums through all the primal parts of Claude’s biology, those weird, ingrained instincts that are part and parcel of being a hybrid. 

“Felix,” Dimitri moans, and Claude really needs to leave about five minutes ago. Right. 

He watches as Dimitri shoves a hand under Felix’s shirt, and sees Felix’s tail start to twitch. It wraps itself around Dimitri, and even from where he’s standing Claude can hear the rumble of Felix’s purr start up again. 

Dimitri does something that Claude is fairly certain is _bite_ Felix’s chest, and then shoves his hand between them both. Felix moans, loud and filthy, and his hands clutch at Dimitri’s shoulders as Dimitri starts grinding against him. 

Claude gives a pained sigh and quietly shimmies down the ladder. He’d love to stick around and watch—they’re hot—but he also knows that’s totally inappropriate and he really does like them both. 

A lot, actually. It’d been sort of thrilling to make Felix purr, and Claude is never going to forget the sight of tall, broad Dimitri _pouncing_ with those little ears of his twitching— 

But, yeah. Not his place, and apparently he already overstepped with the petting, so it’s best if he just heads home. Which is easy enough, picking his way carefully through the yard to the gate and sliding into the overgrown brush that passes as his back yard and makes his neighbors pointedly avoid talking to him. 

The neighbors he wasn’t watching make out. Maybe he should think about why he wanted to live in a neighborhood at all, if he spends so much time annoying them. Claude has to laugh as he navigates the familiar path back to his house, because honestly, who else would end up in this situation but him? 

Hilda, maybe. But definitely just the two of them. 

Claude pulls his phone out when he’s back in his house, thinking about texting her. _Hey, guess who pet his neighbor and made him purr then sent him running up a tree, only for his lion boyfriend to pounce on him and they started making out?_

Except, hmm. Thinking about it is making him a little...interested, and there’s no reason he can’t enjoy the fantasy of being a shameless voyeur even if he really isn’t one. Claude gets himself a glass of water and heads upstairs.

There’s still a bright pink unicorn nightlight in the hallway, which Hilda did not take with her even though she’s the one who put it there in the first place. Despite the fact neither of them really need it, the sight of it always makes him smile. He misses her, though he’s happy she’s with Marianne and getting someone to make _her_ purr on the regular. Not that Claude didn’t. He wasn’t lying about her penchant for demanding pets. If she were an actual full cat, she’d be the long-haired kind that shed all over your clothes and who would only eat organic cat food prepared by five-star chefs or something. 

Given how many pink hairs he’s still finding in his house, maybe she doesn’t even need to be a full cat for that. 

Once in his bedroom, Claude strips and lays on the bed in the dark. He closes his eyes and puts his hand between his legs, starting to tug at his cock. It’s not hard, but it doesn’t take long to get that way, not with the image in his head of Dimitri pouncing on Felix and kissing him. 

He wonders if he should feel bad about fantasizing about his hot neighbors, but it’s not like he’s being weird about it, he’s not...telling them. He’s just stroking his cock, shifting on the bed, thinking about what they must be doing right now. 

Dimitri would have taken off Felix’s shirt, and maybe he’s. Biting Felix, growling that low rumbling sound into his skin while he does it. He wonders if Dimitri’s tongue is sandpaper-rough, if Felix’s is. 

Claude’s breath hitches as he arches up, his cock full hard now. He flails a hand over and grabs the lube from his bedside table, gets a good amount in his hand and hisses a little at how cold it feels on his hot skin. 

But, mmm, yeah, that’s much better. A nice smooth glide, and his toes point as he pants softly, thinking about Dimitri holding Felix down and fucking him, hard. Wondering if he opened the window if maybe he could hear them. Yeah, okay, that might be going too far. 

Still, he can imagine it. Dimitri holding Felix down and fucking him, hard, or maybe...maybe Felix, lithe and pretty, his hair messy and in his face while he rides Dimitri. Digging claws into Dimitri’s broad shoulders. 

Riding him while Claude sits on Dimitri’s face and makes out with Felix. Gets his hand in all that hair, makes Felix purr while Dimitri’s probably-giant-cock—wait, this is fantasy, so, yeah, definitely his giant cock—is buried deep in Felix’s ass. 

Maybe it’s Felix fucking Dimitri’s face, while Dimitri lays like a giant, powerful lion on his back in a bed. Claude, bouncing on his dick, Felix kneeling over him...or, mmm. Claude on his hands and knees, choking on Felix’s cock while Dimitri fucks him. Claude fucking Felix while he deep-throats Dimitri. Claude fucking _Dimitri_ , on top of him while Dimitri is on his stomach, or on _his_ hands and knees, taking Felix’s cock. 

Felix riding Claude, his tail flicking and teasing the skin between Claude’s thighs. Gods, what if Felix and Claude both fucked Dimitri—could they make him roar? 

“Fuck,” Claude mutters, easing up a bit when he realizes he’s jerking himself so hard and fast, he’s already on the edge. If he’s going to do this, he could at least enjoy it. He puts a little more lube on his fingers and slides his other hand down, teasing his hole while he goes back to his fantasies. Luckily he’s flexible—he wonders if they’d like that. Chasing him like prey, bending him this way and that, _devouring_ him with pleasure— 

Normally Claude laughs at anyone who wants to call him prey, just because he’s a deer hybrid. But he’s into it, when it comes to this fantasy; the idea of running wild in some large grassy space, the two of them chasing him, his heart pounding and his adrenaline skyrocketing. Being caught and tumbled to the ground, Felix pinning his hands, Dimitri grinning wild above him, triumphant. 

Claude’s outright fucking himself now, two fingers buried deep, heels digging into the bed as his hips push up and he strokes his cock. Just because he’s being chased doesn’t mean he couldn’t win. He could lead them deep into some thicket, hide in wait, then leap out graceful and deadly with his antlers. 

And do...something. Probably never in the history of ever has a deer taken down a lion, especially given Claude’s antlers aren’t even that big and he usually sheds them before they pose a problem with getting in the car or whatever. But a deer could probably take on a house cat. 

“Yeah,” Claude moans, showing his throat even though he’s the only one there. “Fuck, yeah.” He could take Felix. Pounce on him, kiss him until he was purring. Dimitri would obviously—uh, prowl through the...grass, or forest, whatever...and then pounce. Tumble them both back and this is weird, isn’t it? It’s definitely weird. It’s also counter-intuitive to every nature program, ever, but being a hybrid isn’t the same as being an actual animal. 

Claude might startle in bright lights and opt for side dishes over meat, but he’s clever and resourceful, and he’s good at...ramming? He actually laughs, breathless and a little embarrassed at himself, then twists his hand over the top of his cock, feels the slick pre-come there and fucks himself in earnest. 

Let it be weird, who cares? It’s just a fantasy. 

So Claude cycles through how it would go, getting the upper hand with Felix, maybe, him all bristly and scowly, turning into a purring soft thing beneath Claude’s hands, his mouth. Sucking him until he _mewled_. 

Dimitri, pouncing and rolling Claude in the grass. His teeth on the back of Claude’s neck, rough big hand on Claude’s cock. _You think you can just take him like that?_

It’s a nice fantasy. Better than nice, really; he’s halfway into the scenario where he and Felix are both fucking Dimitri and making him roar when he feels the edge of his orgasm approach. He almost eases off and lets himself build back up again—it’s always better, when he does it that way—but then his mind helpfully supplies them both on either side of him in bed. 

Not pouncing or growling or biting, just...with him. Felix maybe nosing at his neck, voice soft in his ear. “Come on, Claude. Come for us. Want to see you, yeah.” The slender fingers in Claude’s ass are his, moving with precision, rubbing expertly over his prostate. 

Dimitri on his other side, warm like a furnace, beaming with that _smile_ of his, shaggy blond hair in his face. It’s his hand stroking Claude off, twisting over the slippery head of his dick. “Yes, Claude, we want you to. Come, that’s it, it will feel so good—” 

They’d be so into watching him, seeing how much he liked it, and when he came they’d—they’d both clean him, lick the come from his stomach and his chest and— 

That’s enough to shove Claude over the edge, and he comes with a loud cry and gets it _everywhere_ , thinking about warm wet mouths all over him, gentle hands, approving smiles. 

There is probably something to be said about how he’s now fantasizing not about his neighbors and their hybrid-selves, but their actual, real-life people versions. Something he should think more about, maybe, when he’s caught his breath—that what got him off wasn’t the x-rated version of a nature special but a fantasy about Dimitri and Felix focusing on him, wanting to watch him, wanting to see him come for them. 

It’s probably...something. Yeah. Claude’s heart is racing and he came so hard he’s shaking, a bit, and he’s going to need to get up and clean up before sleeping but...yeah. There’s something here that’s maybe a problem, or maybe not, but it’s definitely clear his feelings aren’t just about sex. 

Except he has no indication they want him for anything but a friendly neighbor to share a beer with, if that. If Claude didn’t fuck it up by making Felix purr. There’s a reason deer like tall grass, places to hide. It keeps them safe. Keeps them from being caught, taken, hurt. 

A ridiculous metaphor, maybe. But that doesn’t make it not the truth. 

Claude sighs, gets out of bed, and goes to the bathroom to shower. Next time maybe he should stick with the elaborate fantasies, no matter how weird they are. As a hybrid, he’s not really a deer and they’re not really going to hunt him. But as a person, well, Claude could definitely get hurt or hurt _them_ , and he doesn’t want either of those things, either. 

It might be better if he just didn’t push, if he withdrew, kept things friendly but didn’t try for more. Safer, for sure. But he can’t stop thinking about Felix purring, Dimitri letting him pet his ears. The fact they hadn’t asked him to leave when he’d peered at them over the ladder of the tree house. 

Claude knows better than to make decisions with post-orgasm brain, so...he should table this for later, probably. Or maybe indefinitely. Either way, now’s not the time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come chat with us on Twitter: [MxTicketyBoo](https://twitter.com/MxTicketyBoo), [dustofwarfare](https://twitter.com/dustofwarfare), [ohmyfae](https://twitter.com/faewrites) <3


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